Bellona and Mars
by Bellicose Blue
Summary: Together, they would watch everything that was so carefully planned collapse, and they would smile at the beauty of destruction.
1. Chapter 1

Clove leaned against the wall of the Training Center, arms crossed against her chest. Deceptively idle, her eyes moved slowly across the room, taking in as much as they could. For all the hype she'd heard about the oldest age group's training room, the high-tech displays and spas and gourmet cafeteria foods, it wasn't all that different from the room she'd been moved from just that morning. Desperation and sweat formed a haze around the figures that were fighting, running, crying. Apparently some were more desperate than others.

The boy approaching her now was certainly not one of those. Nearly a foot taller than her with ice blue eyes, a brutish face, and a muscular physique, he emanated confidence like the artificial light that reflected off his golden hair. She angled her body to face him, mildly surprised to note that she did know him. Cato Ludwig: swordfighter extraordinaire, swooned over by the female trainees, darling of the District. He was practically guaranteed the privilege to volunteer during the Reaping.

Clove was almost certain he had no idea who she was. Tiny little girl with dark hair in a ponytail, pale skin dotted with freckles, bright green eyes. Easily swallowed by the crowd of trainees who were taller, stronger, louder than she. Forgettable. But that morning, a trainer had pulled her aside to tell her that she was being promoted a whole age group ahead of her classmates. She might not have much in the way of imposing strength, but she was quick and clever and always perfect with a knife.

Cato didn't seem the type to wonder why someone of her diminutive stature would be elevated in rank so dramatically. That was just fine with her. Hiding in the shadows meant she was the targeter and not the targeted. Just in case there was some brain hidden inside his brawn, she gave him her sweetest "I won't last a minute in the arena" smile.

He stopped a fair distance away, still towering over her, and she instantly hated the angle her neck had to tilt at to look him in the eye. "Fuhrman?" Cato asked in the manner of one who already anticipated the answer.

Clove smiled widely again, blinking a few times for good measure. "Yes, that's me. Can I help you?" There was a dagger's biting edge hidden beneath the words, so smothered with sweetness she doubted he could detect it.

Cato appeared to be restraining himself from rolling his eyes. "I've been ordered to be your guide for the day." Every syllable was low, rough, and smothering in its condescension. He eyed her doubtfully, probably wondering why she was here and what she'd done to earn her spot.

Clove inwardly smirked. He appeared to be just as thrilled at the prospect of showing her around the dull room as she was. Cato Ludwig was used to being spoiled, the favorite of the trainers, not escorting some new trainee around like a servant. "That sounds great," she told him, purposefully skimming over his evident disdain like she was too dumb to notice.

He didn't say much more after that, just turned on his heel and began to stalk away like she was expected to follow. When she lingered at the wall too long (inertia was a lovely thing, but sometimes inconvenient), he turned around with a growl she could feel in her bones. She marveled at his mild self-control, as his grip was only slightly bonecrushing around her wrist as he pulled her away.

"Stations," Cato told her unnecessarily. "There's no schedule for training like the other age groups have. You're free to work on fixing a weakness or perfecting a talent, although I can't imagine you have any." He looked pointedly at her spindly arms.

Clove resisted the urge to pull out her not-Training Center-sanctioned knife from its strap on her ankle and show him just where her talents laid. "What are those boards along the walls?" she asked instead, smothering her homicidal tendencies with another smile.

"Rankings for the different stations. Don't expect to see your name on them." Cato flicked a finger at the one that hung above a wrestling ring. His name dominated the rest of the list, and as Clove glanced around, she could see a similar occurrence on the other boards.

"Interesting" was all she said.

Cato pointed out the cafeteria and changing rooms with bare nods of his head, tossing out more thinly-veiled insults than she'd thought was possible as they walked. She was close to losing her composure by the end of the tour, but managed to keep her cool and give Cato a docile bob of the head in thanks. Cato just stalked away, muttering under his breath in disgust, and she was finally alone.

The first stage of her plan was to stay inconspicuous. She knew she'd become a target once she revealed how suited she was to the Hunger Games, and unfortunately, she lacked the connections or brutal strength of Cato to repel those desperate enough to dispatch her.

So instead of rushing towards the knives and obliterating the pathetic score that topped the board for that section, Clove meandered over to one of the empty stations and almost groaned when she saw what it was. _Fire-starting. No wonder no one's here. Starting a fire is the quickest way to say "please find me and kill me" in the Games._ But as long as she was here, she might as well pick up the skill.

The trainer who ran the station was rather surprised to have company, but soon adjusted and showed her the basics. Clove was absorbed in her work, quietly focused, when a shadow fell over her.

At first, she didn't turn around. Getting into a fight with Cato would make her a little more visible than she'd prefer, even if it did make her feel better. Perhaps, if she ignored him, he'd give up and leave. The trainer glanced up from where he'd been rearranging some kindling, did a double take, and froze. Surely Cato'd never come over to this station before in his life. He struck her as the kind who found survival by eliminating his enemies, not by hiding himself. Then why was he over here now?

Clove hated to depend on luck, relying instead on her own skills, but she wouldn't have minded a bit of good fortune. That luck didn't seem to be with her that day. "Ludwig. Is something the matter?" she asked innocently. In her hands, the tinder sparked. She imagined each wisp of flame on Cato's face, searing lines onto his skin, and smiled.

"One would hope not." His voice was cold, flat, hiding any flashes of rage. "It's lunchtime. You'll eat with me."

Now Clove turned to face him, actually shocked. What did he think he was doing? Beside her, the trainer began to edge away slowly, clearly not wanting to be caught in the fight he was anticipating would ensue. She hid her surprise, simpered, "Why, Ludwig, are you asking me out? How sweet of you. I don't think you're quite my type, however."

Cato scoffed, let out a bark of laughter that made the quivering trainer beside her startle. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm being friendly."

Now it was Clove's turn to laugh derisively, though she knew she was quickly shedding her meek, mediocre persona. "I don't think you've ever done a single thing out of the goodness of your heart, Ludwig. Why would a person like you want to be seen with a person like me?" Without looking around, she could feel the eyes on her back, the other trainees watching her with curiosity, amusement, jealousy.

"Maybe I just really want your company." His face cracked into a smirk halfway through the sentence, unable to hold onto his poker face. Clove scowled up at him, and Cato grinned wider. She slashed the sticks against each other with such fury that one snapped in her hand. Cato gave another laugh, the sound rough from underuse. "This is just lunch, after all. No pressure." When that seemed to fail to convince her, he added, "Come on, pet. You don't want to starve, do you?"

"If I do, then I don't have to listen to you any more," she snapped back, but there was a resignation to her. Clove tossed the sticks at the shell-shocked trainer, barely even noticing his flinch. "All right, Ludwig. You win. There'd better be some damn good food to make up for this."

It was pretty damn good food.

 **Blue here with a brand-new pairing! I'm super excited to start this story and work with such fun characters. c: Expect updates about once every other week. Please drop a line for critiques, suggestions, etc.**


	2. Chapter 2

Clove was the smallest one at the table.

She'd come to expect this sort of thing; overpowered people like Cato tended to attract others, and the vast majority of trainees past their thirteenth year were taller than Clove. Their population tended to select for brawn over brain. But it was still frustrating that even the girls batting their eyes at Cato had at least three inches and thirty pounds of muscle on her.

She hunched over her wilting salad as Cato's friends cheerfully jostled one another around her. They were the loud central table, in full view of all the other trainees, lapping up the limelight. The golden children of District Two, the ones most likely to bring prestige and wealth to their people. They knew their place as future Victors, just as the trainees drooping on the outskirts knew their place as fillers and future Peacekeepers.

Clove didn't care to learn her place.

She turned her attention back to the conversation, currently about the new selection system for volunteers. "- said instead of the usual single-elimination in direct combat, they're bringing in all the Victors and having everyone go through all the stations," one girl with perfect makeup finished saying.

"I heard that too," the boy to Clove's left chimed in. "And the stations are all supposedly weighted based on relevance to the Games, so if we just skip knot-tying it won't even affect our scores."

Cato smirked. "Fuhrman's screwed, then. She spent all morning at the fire-making station. They might actually dock points for that useless skill, pet." His words, delivered to the whole table, dug into Clove's skin as the people around her laughed.

Clove hid her simmering rage beneath an unconcerned smile, waiting for them to finish laughing. When the table eventually silenced themselves, she spoke up. "Ludwig, why am I here?" she replied. "Surely there's much better entertainment here than taking potshots at me. If I don't get clarification, I might think you have designs on me."

Cato smirked at one of the boys beside him. "This is why I brought her here. Fiery little thing, isn't she?" He winked meaningfully. "Should be a lot of fun to play with."

"Don't kid yourself, Cato," the boy responded with a daring eyeroll. "If you wanted to bed her, you'd be acting all charming and crap. Besides, she doesn't quite seem like your type."

"Yes, I suppose Cato does tend to go for the prettier girls," one of the other girls interjected idly. There was a flash of _something_ in her eyes that made Clove wonder if the other had been rejected for one of the "prettier girls".

Cato smirked, completely unrepentant. "What can I say? I have excellent taste."

The boy Cato had been speaking to earlier snapped his fingers. "That's it! You want her as your District partner!"

Clove nearly scoffed, about to shoot down the ridiculous idea, when she noticed all the nods rolling across the table. "That makes perfect sense," replied one of the more bland friends. "Why would someone like this-" he gestured at Clove condescendingly "-ever be promoted early? She must be something really special if the trainers overlooked her physical weakness like that."

Cato laughed. "I'm not so sure about that. The only thing she did this morning was try to start a fire. Not very impressive, if you ask me."

"Give it up, Ludwig. You never were a good liar. For what it's worth, I think you'd make a great team," another face added. "You two have a nice balance. Dark and light, short and tall, fast and strong. The Capitol will eat that crap up with a silver spoon."

Clove wrinkled her nose in disgust, the salad now completely unappetizing. "Except I don't want to be his District partner," she explained very slowly. For some of the most promising tributes of District Two, they were either deluded or idiotic. "I want to win the Games. Ludwig would only bring me down."

The same jealous-eyed girl gave a snort. "Don't be ridiculous. Cato's practically guaranteed to be the tribute this year," she informed Clove acidly. "Now you? I'm not so sure." She paused, leaned over the table, chin resting in her hand. "What's so special about you, Clove Fuhrman? Are you sure you didn't get promoted early because you spread your-"

Before the girl could finish her lewd slander, Clove had reached across the table and grabbed the girl by the neck. "No, dear. I'd never stoop to your level," she told her sweetly, almost conversationally, as she plucked the knife she'd used for the salad and brought it up to the girl's neck. "That wasn't very polite. Would you like to apologize? It might be your last chance to speak." She brought the knife slowly over to the other girl's mouth, teasingly grazing her pale skin.

The girl struggled beneath her grip, hands already scrabbling at Clove's as she tried in vain to peel back her fingers. The petty, surly look had vanished, replaced by a frantic sort of terror as she looked desperately back at her friends. But Cato, looking amused, made a sharp gesture, and none of them had moved to stop Clove.

Clove sighed in mock disappointment. "Oh dear. No backup for you? That's too bad. Yes, I don't think you'll have much use for your lips anymore." The dull knife in her hand was just as capable as any sleek dagger, should she want to do more than terrorize the girl. She wasn't stupid, after all. There were trainers watching the entire cafeteria, certainly keeping a close eye on their exchange, and she had no doubt that if she were to actually torture the pathetic girl, she would lose her shot at the Games. But she had to leave some sort of reminder in the girl's skin.

She nicked first the left, then the right corners of her mouth in an upward curve. Blood dotted the wounds, stretching beyond the girl's lips to form a grotesque crimson grin. "Much better," Clove told her, releasing the girl's neck and easing back into her seat. Across from her, the girl gasped for air and dabbed at the corners of her mouth.

The only sound for a long while was the shaky little breaths from the humiliated girl. Finally, the boy who had spoken so boldly to Cato began to talk. "Now I see why you want her as your partner."

Cato only grinned in response.

* * *

Lunch ended shortly after that little episode that left the nameless girl glaring at Clove, forcibly smiling all the while. Clove was the first to rise, about to head back to continue where she'd left off at the fire-starting station (she never left anything unfinished), when Cato placed a hand on her shoulder and tugged her around.

She glared up at him, trying to duck out of his grip, but Cato was unrelenting. Finally, Clove stopped resisting and just scowled. "Ludwig, let go of me. I need to train."

"Not at that farce of a station, you don't," Cato told her. "You'll be going to the combat stations- the _actual_ stations- with me. I'd like to make sure that little spat at the cafeteria wasn't some fluke."

Without looking away from Cato's odd blue eyes, she slid a knife from her boot and hurled it at the opposite wall. It lodged into the material, breaths away from shearing a large piece of skin off Cato's face. Cato was unfazed. "Yes, pet, we've established you like knives. I'm making sure you're competent with the more strength-related aspects as well."

Clove seethed, but still allowed Cato to pull her towards the nearest station. "Swordfighting? You've got to be kidding," she complained. "Wake up and smell the roses, Ludwig. This isn't the Dark Ages any more. And you sure aren't a knight in shining armor."

"Just shut up and get a sword," Cato ordered, surly. She obeyed, muttering under her breath all the while as Cato began to warm up. She watched him out of the corner of her eye and couldn't help but be impressed. The half-fanatical rumors about his skill with a sword had turned out to be true. Clove herself wasn't awful, but certainly nothing like Cato, who held the sword with the same familiarity as she when she held a particularly cruel dagger.

Cato finally turned around to look at her, an excited gleam to his icy eyes. "Well, pet? Let's begin."

Clove quickly found that she couldn't beat Cato with a sword. She also couldn't beat him at wrestling and weightlifting, though they were tied for uselessness in archery. Cato had been rather surprised when she beat him easily at spearthrowing. It was evident he held his spearthrowing abilities to be nearly on par with his prowess with a sword, as his name had formerly graced the top of the ranking. To Clove, the spear was very similar to her beloved knives. "It's the same concept," she explained arrogantly. "If you can throw a knife, you can throw a spear. It's a bit of a weight shift, but nothing a skilled person shouldn't be able to get around."

"Interesting, Fuhrman," Cato said rather quietly, looking up at Clove's name emblazoned on the board above his own. "Don't get used to it."

Clove shrugged flippantly. "I could say the same to you. You haven't even seen me throw knives yet." She leaned in close. "I could shear the skin off your sword hand before you could blink."

Cato laughed, clearly not taking her threats too seriously. "I don't think you would. You'd rather have a strong partner in the Games, wouldn't you?" He gestured around at the crowd of trainees who were not-so-subtlely watching their interactions with surprise and jealousy on their forgettable faces. "There isn't a single other trainee out there who could even compete with me."

Clove set down her spear while pouting. "That's the only reason I've deigned to let you train with me," she insisted. "If I'm forced to spend time with some arrogant brute, it might as well be one who can put up a good fight." _Before I kill you, of course._

But before she could voice the threat aloud, a bell rang, signaling the end of training. Her breath escaped her in a huffy sigh before she could stop herself. Cato smirked. "Not ready to leave me just yet, pet? Don't worry. I'd be happy to walk you home. I can't just leave a little girl wandering on her own, now can I?"

Clove grimaced. "You can, and you should," she informed him exasperatedly. "I don't need anyone to look after me, and I'm not a little girl!"

Cato was chuckling before she could even finish her indignant sentence. "Clove, I could wrap my hand around your entire neck," he reminded her like it was a totally ordinary statement to make about someone three years younger than he was.

"Kinky," she muttered. Apparently not quietly enough, because Cato burst out laughing.

"Don't worry, I'm not into children. Now are you coming or not?" Without even waiting for her to turn down the idea, Cato grabbed her by the shoulder and began to forcibly march her out of the training room. She managed to avoid biting his hand until they left.


	3. Chapter 3

"If it doesn't hurt your brain too much to think, could you explain to me just why you're in my house?" It was early, too early to walk out of her room to find Cato munching on her breakfast.

He shrugged, swallowing a bite of the nauseating protein bar before responding. "I wanted to see how you live. It's just as boring and dull as I expected." Cato gestured at the simple furniture, rigid and gray. Their District never placed too much pride on interior decorating, but her house was almost embarrassingly austere. Well, it's not like she spent too much time there anyway. She was always either in the Training Center or asleep on her marginally more comfortable bed.

"Thank you. I was inspired by your personality," Clove snapped, stalking over to the table and tipping Cato out of the seat. "Could you not eat my food? I need something to get through another day with you."

"There's some beer at my place. You'd only need a sip- you look like a total lightweight," Cato informed her, sitting up carelessly from his spot on the ground and taking another bite of her breakfast.

"Stop trying to get into my pants, Ludwig. I'm not interested." She brushed past him and began opening all the cupboard doors in search of something to eat. Cobwebs, dust, cobwebs with live spiders… She closed the last door hurriedly. "Thanks to you, I now have nothing to eat."

Cato held up the half-eaten protein bar. "No, I'd rather not contract whatever vile disease has possessed you to break into my house at five in the morning," Clove sneered.

"Are you finished complaining, then?" His eyes slid over her pajamas, a dark gray tank top and ill-fitting pants, then returned to her face. "Nice training clothes. Very attractive."

Clove flushed, evident even in the half-light. "I'm not dressed yet, Ludwig! Sorry for not expecting you to show up in my house before dawn!"

"What would you be wearing if you'd known?" She turned on the spot and stormed off in the direction of her room, followed by Cato's mocking laughter.

She came back out a few minutes later, her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail and her clothes changed to the only marginally-different training clothes. "Get a move on, Ludwig. I need to lock the house."

Cato snickered. "Because there's so much worth stealing?" Before she could snap a response, he hauled himself out of his reclaimed chair until he towered above her once more. "Are you finally ready to leave, pet?"

Clove scowled even as she glanced around for the dim light of the clock. "Yes- damn it, Ludwig! We're going to be late!" Fear trickled up her spine as she remembered the one time she'd had the audacity to be late to training. She'd still had the marks a week later. She moved in a rush, snatching her backpack from where it was carelessly tossed on the counter and throwing on some shoes. "Come _on_ , Ludwig, do you want the trainers to beat you? We need to leave _now_!"

But Cato was leaning casually against the wall, completely unhurried and at peace with the world. "Don't stress, pet. We'll be fine," he assured her.

"No, we're very well not going to be fine! This is my second day; just because they've given up on an idiot like you doesn't mean they won't punish me!" Clove was starting to panic, pulling at her ponytail even though it couldn't get any tighter.

" _Relax_ ," Cato told her, rolling his eyes. "You're with me now. The trainers will excuse it- just you see."

Clove stabbed one finger in his face, ungratified when he didn't even flinch. "If you're wrong about this, Ludwig, I will _ruin_ you. I will flay the flesh from your bones and go into the Hunger Games all by my damn self before I let you even begin to grovel for forgiveness."

Cato raised an eyebrow at her threats while a smirk slowly grew across his face. "Feisty. I like that."

Her scream of frustration echoed through the house.

* * *

"You've got to be kidding me," Clove hissed as the trainer posted by the entrance dipped his head reverently to Cato and stepped aside to let the pair walk through. "Who did you sleep with to get this preferential treatment?"

Cato shrugged, not even taking offense at the barbed question. "Didn't have to. When you're the top fighter, well-connected, and incredibly handsome and charming, you don't need to resort to tricks to get people to recognize you." He glanced idly back at the trainer. "Some of them are afraid I'll challenge them to a duel and obliterate their status," he added.

"Those are some big words, Cato. Are you sure you know what they all mean? For instance, 'handsome' generally refers to someone attractive and pleasant to look at. Not quite the adjective that I'd apply to you." Clove set her bag in a corner, as far away from the other trainees' things as she could manage.

Cato grinned yet again. "You just keep trying to convince yourself you're not half in love with me," he said as he slung off his bag annoyingly close to hers. He chuckled when she kicked it aside.

"If you're quite done being infuriating, some of us would like to accomplish something today," she told him, but there was a sort of resigned quality to her voice. Over the past day, she'd learned that Cato rarely did what he was told.

"It's video day today. Why bother?"

Clove laughed before she could stop herself. She'd forgotten amidst all the confusion of moving up a level that reruns of past Games were played once a week. "They still do that here? Does anyone really care to see Finnick Odair practically nude or Titus going crazy and eating people? All those reruns show are what strategies work and which fail miserably. It's not like anyone else can rely completely on pure sex appeal like Odair did."

Cato nodded. "It only worked for Odair because he was an outrageous flirt. As a general suggestion, you should avoid any angles that involve stripping. I hear he's not too happy now."

Clove looked sharply up at him as he shut his mouth quickly. Two tended to be a fairly tolerant District, given that approximately half of the children would grow to be Peacekeepers and everyone was related to at least one of the figures in white, but the uncommon flashes of treason were dealt with severely. If anyone suspected… "Well, of course not," she replied, forcing a laugh. "Have you seen those outfits he's been wearing lately? Not much to see at all. I'm sure he just wants something a little more modest."

"You're probably right," Cato agreed. The brief trace of animalistic terror that had clawed its way across his skin had vanished into a smile a weaker girl would have considered charming. "We don't want to miss the glorious rerun of the Games. Let's go."

He grabbed her wrist and began to pull her away from the corner, and she could tell by the subtle movements of his head that he was searching for any of the trainers who might have overheard his ill-conceived comment. Clove was barely restraining herself from looking around herself. Finally the rigid lines of his shoulders eased just a bit, and she felt herself relax.

"You're a damn idiot," she whispered in his ear as she sat down in the small theater and he sat next to her. Cato made a frantic motion with his hand accompanied with a slight shake of his head, and she was silent the rest of the interminably boring video.

* * *

"What an utter waste of time spent watching that trite Games. So what if Mason played the idiot the whole time? That only worked because she had a face that looked like she'd drop the ax on her foot at any second. No one would believe us if we tried that," Clove near-ranted as they exited the theater. Her fear from before was gone, wiped away with her furious tirade over the girl's innate ability to appear as weak as possible. Her eyes landed on some of Cato's female friends, giggling and whispering a distance away. "Well, I suppose there's some here who could pull it off," she conceded, making a face at the makeup that glistened even from there.

"Manners, pet," Cato chided. "Just because Mason was lucky enough to go up against a bunch of idiots who fell for her weak angle doesn't mean she didn't win."

 _She won, and you didn't._ Clove gritted her teeth. "We'll see what happens this year, Ludwig. I have a feeling the Games are going to be quite interesting."

Cato eyed her but, for once, didn't push. "I agree."

 **Finally updating this, oops. I seem to have dug myself out of the writer's block rut, so hopefully updates will be much more frequent. I also have three more oneshots/drabblely things in progress: a quirky second-person from Clove's POV, a Clato where they claim the lovers angle before District Twelve can, and a politically-inclined Clato set after the Games that may end up being several parts. These will be completed approximately whenever I feel like it and posted as soon as they're suitable for y'all to read.**


	4. Chapter 4

It was Selection Day, and Clove was nervous, trying not to pace, failing. _I look like a fool, all flustered for a day I'm practically guaranteed to win._ She glanced around at the other girls in the crowded hallway outside the Training Center, sizing up her competition for what felt like the hundredth time. Uniform builds, uniformly taller and stronger than Clove. Matching clothes, hair pulled back tightly. Strong and fast and tough and clever. But none were Clove.

Just as she drew strength from that thought, the doors to the Training Center opened and a group of people emerged. One of the head trainers stood at the front of the pack, and the nervous chatter abruptly ceased. No one dared rebel against a trainer, not since years ago when an example had been made.

"Good morning, hopeful tributes. Today will be a momentous day for all of you. Two of you will be selected to go forth and bring glory to our District. The rest?" He shrugged carelessly. "Condemned to a life of mediocrity. I'd say there's always next year, but if you fail this year, likely not." Clove shivered at the threat and watched the others eye one another fearfully.

"Enough with the pleasantries." _Only this would pass for "pleasant" in Two,_ Clove reflected. "These are your evaluators for the day, the illustrious Victors of District Two." This was the point at which another group of people might have clapped, but Two disdained such idle motion as wasteful and unnecessary when it could be better spent observing who had just been introduced.

And observe she did. She knew all of the faces by sight, of course. But it was one thing to see them thirty years younger and smeared with blood than contemptuous, scowling, bored. Most of them had managed to attain an extraordinary level of fitness. There was Lyme, looking annoyed with the whole process, and probably taller than Cato with dense muscling. And Brutus, even more muscular, sneering as the trainees closest to him scattered. And Enobaria, cold and graceful, watching Clove with measured eyes.

Clove tilted her head slightly and met the other woman's gaze, noting the inlaid gold in her filed teeth when she grinned sharply. Enobaria was famous for her viciousness, her utter lack of moral boundaries in the Games. She'd ripped her competition's throat out with her teeth because it was necessary, but she'd taken pleasure from the act, too. She was by far Clove's favorite of all the Victors. She'd watched the recap of her Games so frequently she could've acted it out.

She broke eye contact as the head trainer held up a hand and began to speak again, effectively silencing the buzz of chatter that had started up as trainees gushed over seeing their idols in person. "The evaluators will walk around the Training Center and observe as you rotate through the stations. They are looking for strength, skill, intelligence, and, above all, viciousness. The District wants a Victor this year. Do not disappoint." With that, the Victors turned and entered the Training Center. Clove saw them space themselves out as the door shut behind them.

"Rotations will be in groups of threes, same gender if possible. You will each spend fifteen minutes at a station before you move to the next." The head trainer began to point out trainees. "You three, you're starting at spears. You three, ropes." Clove tuned him out and began to control her breathing, to steady it for optimal efficiency until he pointed at her. "Wrestling." The corner of her mouth tightened in annoyance, but she didn't argue, just headed out of the room with the rest of her group.

Cato caught up to her once the door closed behind them, turning her around with a yank to her ponytail that made her snarl. "Wrestling, huh? I'd wish you luck, but it sounds like I won't be seeing you after today, pet." He was all careless arrogance, clearly not too concerned with besting the two scrawny boys in his group. Clove again wondered just how some of these people reached the upper ranks.

Clove smiled at him, the kind of innocent beam she'd used the first time she'd met him, and he was right to be wary of it. "That's so kind of you, Ludwig. But I'm certain you'll see me when I'm chosen to volunteer." Her eyes rested on some of his competition, silently working at their stations and looking pretty darn good. "Then again, maybe not."

She left him fuming and met up with her group at the wrestling arena. The trainer pitted them against one another- Clove and the first and then Clove and the second and then the first and second, and she stifled a groan. Wrestling was easily her worst station when she trained with Cato- he was at least twice her size and so skilled it was almost unfair. She'd never won a match fairly against him, unless "fair" included the time she kicked him in the groin and he keeled over and she didn't lay a hand on him. She counted it anyway.

But to her shock, wrestling these forgettable girls was easy. They might have had fifty pounds of muscle on her, but they were slower and not as quick a thinker as Cato. Clove had learned to be scrappy during the month or so she'd trained with Cato, and now she watched as the derision slid from their too-pretty faces to be replaced with horror as she flipped one off their feet and pinned her down, wrapped her legs around the other's neck in a move that was dubiously legal in any situation other than the Hunger Games.

 _Perhaps I owe more to Cato than I thought._

* * *

In the extra time after the spears station (she'd done exceedingly well on them again, easily besting the other trainees who were now pale and resigned with the knowledge that they had lost their chance to volunteer), Clove rested on the sidelines with a bottle of water. She felt eyes on her back and turned to see Enobaria, cold and calculating, a clipboard in hand. A smile curved across the other woman's lips as she scribbled something down and turned to talk to Brutus.

Clove shivered even as the bell rang, signaling a shift in the stations. She dutifully rose with her group and walked on to the next station. _Knives, finally._ She felt something feral cross her lips. These poor fools. If they thought her success in the other stations was just a fluke, they'd be in for a rude awakening. She could practically see Cato smirking as she placed the first knife in her hand, holding it reverently. One of the girls cursed.

And they were well and truly done for as Clove played with her knives, sending them soaring towards moving targets and barely seeming to move her arm as they left her fingertips. They were all the beauty and grace she wasn't, and she loved them. The trainer, seeing how easily she demolished her targets (bullseyes were too easy. no, Clove drew a 'C' with the hilts and smiled), started to throw objects in the air, first large fluffy pillows and then smaller things, slices of an apple and plastic bags of water and her knives skewered them all and brought them to the ground.

By the time the last object fell, a pouch of water pierced perfectly through the center, the Training Center was silent. The metal of the knife rang out as it rebounded against the floor, the sound unnaturally loud in the room that was for once so silent. Clove turned slowly around to see a sea of unblinking eyes, full of jealousy and loathing and quiet interest.

She felt herself start to flush at the attention, fidgeting uncomfortably beneath their stares, until she caught Cato's eye. He was leaning up against the wrestling arena she'd been in an hour earlier and smirking, obviously relishing in her discomfort. Clove thought of Cato's stupid grin carved red and had to suppress a smile of her own. _Oh, I'll kill him later,_ she promised herself even as the bell startled everyone back to the trudge of showcasing their talents.

* * *

"Results should be back in a week or so, I've heard," Cato told her as they walked back along the main road. Clove had tried to escape from his company by speeding up, slowing down, darting down side roads, but each time he'd keep pace with her until she'd finally given up. "Not that it really matters for either of us. I did fine on the knives and saw some of the other boys royally screw up after they saw you and, well, you certainly commanded attention."

Clove flushed again. "I can't believe those idiots just stopped working to watch me," she muttered under her breath. "Obviously they're not going to be chosen based on how well they can ogle me."

Cato shrugged. "It was the first time any of them had ever seen you throw a knife. Don't tell me you haven't been hiding your talents for the past month; you haven't gone over to that station once. If you hadn't done so poorly at wrestling, I might have been impressed too."

Clove reeled at the combined insult and compliment, not sure which to focus on. It was easier to be affronted. "What do you mean, 'poorly'? I beat those two girls easily!"

"That was a mediocre showing. Just because you beat weaklings doesn't make you strong," Cato explained slowly, patronizingly.

She tilted her head up to glare at him. "I did better than all those other girls and you damn well know it, Cato," she hissed. "The only station I flubbed was archery and let's face it, shooting a bow and arrow is totally useless in the Games. I don't need to be good at it when I'm _great_ with knives."

Cato smirked. "We'll see how the Victors feel about that. Enobaria especially was staring at you, and not in the 'you have so much potential' way. She looked like she was an animal and you her prey."

"She is an animal," Clove murmured, so softly Cato could barely hear. "She's cold and vicious and cruel and has absolutely no regard for human life." She paused. "But I hear she's up to be a mentor this year, so hopefully she'll be as good of a teacher as she is a fighter."

Cato shook his head. "You're sure you don't have some mental disorder? Have you been checked out?" Clove sighed but retaliated, and from there the conversation degenerated into comparisons of one another's features and the nastiest things found in nature.


	5. Chapter 5

**[[Look at this- two updates in two days. I'm on a roll, y'all.]]**

* * *

Clove stood on tiptoe, craning her neck to try to see around the crowd of chattering trainees standing between her and the white paper tacked to the board. She had long accepted that she was never going to grow much taller than her current height, and that it sometimes provided advantages in the form of a lower center of gravity and a nonthreatening appearance, but it would've been nice to be a few inches taller in moments like these.

She'd been elbowing at the trainees alongside her, but none of them budged. Either they didn't want to admit weakness, or they just didn't want her to read the paper. She kicked one of them in the shin. He twitched but moved to stand even further in front of her.

Clove gave up then, throwing her hands up (and hitting another girl in the face) as she spun around and marched to the side, waiting for the crowd to slow so she could read the tiny slip of paper that would spell her future.

Cato sidled up to her. "Not curious to see who the Victors picked? Funny, I'd have thought you'd want to know who beat you."

Clove pinned him with a glare, hoping he couldn't see how pale her skin was, how wide her eyes. She could feel her heart flutter with nerves, and the feeling scared her so much she clamped down on it with snarky remarks. "I know you haven't seen the list yet, Ludwig. I would've been able to see your head in the crowd. I'm surprised it hasn't exploded from all the hot air already."

"That's what you think, pet. I have my ways." Cato wiggled his eyebrows, and the motion was so absurdly suggestive Clove burst out laughing.

"Well, I'm interested to see who beat you. Funny, I didn't think there was a trainee still more egotistic than you," Clove retorted, grinning. Bantering with Cato was normal. Bantering with Cato was calming. The flightiness of her hands, the way they fluttered like trapped birds, was easing.

"Oh, you haven't met her yet? Ridiculously short, pale, and useless at everything except knives. She overcompensates for her lack of skill with her ego. Goes by Clove."

She punched him in the side, and he twisted away to avoid most of it. His reflexes sure had improved since she started training with him, she thought with an inward smile. "Stop hiding things from me, Ludwig. Who did they pick?"

Cato shrugged. "I actually don't know. I just got here."

Clove groaned and swung halfheartedly at him, a punch he didn't even bother dodging. "You were supposed to blind everyone with your arrogance and read the paper while they were distracted! Now I'll have to wait forever to find out!" She stared out at the swarm of trainees hopelessly.

"Be right back, pet. Try not to miss me too much," Cato told her as he stepped away and into the throng. He was instantly swallowed up by the trainees- _how were there so many that she'd never seen before?_

"It was nice knowing you," she called after him. "Great, now I'll never see him again." Clove slumped against the wall and watched for the crowd to finally disperse, which seemed rather far in coming, as the other trainees continued to mill about the board.

And then he was back, hair rumpled out of its usual perfection and smirking as he pushed aside the last stragglers and rejoined Clove. "Lovely weather today," he remarked, looking up at the ceiling.

"Who is it?" Clove asked.

Cato pretended to misunderstand the question. "Well, the weather's not really an 'it', pet, that's very impolite of you to say. He's actually a very handsome gentleman and likes to be referred to as such."

"No, you idiot," she hissed. "The tributes. Who was chosen?"

"Wow, is that what you sent me down for? You should've reminded me. I'm afraid I don't remember." Cato was all wide-eyed innocence, and Clove gritted her teeth.

"Cato…" she warned, one hand sliding down to the boot that held a knife.

"Are you threatening me? I'm just so afraid right now that I can't recall who was on that list. Maybe I need a reminder." He puckered his lips teasingly and Clove scowled, rolled her eyes. "Or you could just ask nicely."

Instead of saying something snippy like "You'd damn well better remember before I carve your nose into a beak", Clove pouted, widened her eyes, and murmured, "Please, Cato?"

His grin widened, and he unclenched his fist to reveal a tiny slip of paper with just two dark lines scrawled on it. "You didn't," she gasped, glancing down at the paper and then at his face. "You're not supposed to just steal the paper, Ludwig!"

"Oh, you don't want to read it? My mistake. Go ahead and wait with the others for when a new copy arrives." Cato made as if to take the paper away, and she snatched it out of his hand and stepped back.

She was silent for so long, reading the paper over and over again until the words were emblazoned in her mind, until she could've forged the writing perfectly. She spoke slowly, not trusting the words, as she said, "We're going to the Hunger Games."

Cato scoffed. "Obviously. Who else would they pick- the girl whose mouth you carved open? The boy who broke a leg when I wrestled him?" But she still looked disbelieving, eyes fixed on the ground, so he leaned down and tilted her head up until her eyes found his. "Did you really think you weren't going to be chosen? People _stared_ , Clove. That's not something that ever happens. Usually they have to actually use their algorithms to find their tributes."

Clove blinked furiously at some excess of emotion catching in her eyelashes and pulled away from his hand. "I'm just surprised you were chosen, that's all. That one friend of yours- the plain boy- looked pretty sharp. Are you certain they wrote down the right name?" She glanced down at the paper again, but she looked more at the first line than the second. _Female Tribute: Clove Fuhrman._

Cato plucked the piece of paper away from her, laughing when she squeaked in dismay and tried to clutch at it. "You've been hoarding this for too long. The others are going to get suspicious. I'll go give it to someone and they can all fight over it," he told her.

Clove barely noticed as he rejoined the fray, still staring into nothingness as she focused on simple thoughts to calm her again-racing heart. _Tomorrow is the Reaping. Tomorrow someone's name will be drawn out of the bowl. I will volunteer for them. No one will challenge me, because I'd kill them if they did. Someone else's name will be drawn then, and Cato will volunteer for them. And we will shake hands beneath the gaze of our idiotic escort and wait for visitors that will not come and be taken away on a train. We will train like we haven't for most of our lives and we will smile for the cameras and we will enter the arena and kill or be killed._

* * *

Things did turn out rather like she'd envisioned. The next day, she woke up even earlier than usual to brush her hair back into a severe ponytail, the ends blunt and dangling past her shoulders. Clove ate even though she didn't want to and brushed her teeth. She dressed robotically in a slightly nicer version of the daily training garment and took one last look at herself in the mirror. Steady hands, cold eyes, deadly perfection. She would glide effortlessly onto the stage and dazzle the Capitol with her viciousness.

She left her empty house, and Cato fell into step beside her. Clove was too tired to do more than question it. "Don't you have a family and friends of your own, Ludwig? Surely you'd rather go to the Reaping with them," she said halfheartedly.

"We need to present a united front," he told her instead of continuing with the banter. "Two hasn't had a Victor in years. The Capitol, all the Districts know we always hunt in packs- why not start early?"

Clove considered his words. Sometimes Cato was shallow and arrogant and careless, and sometimes he was so clever she had a hard time reconciling the two in her head. "Allies, then?"

Cato snorted. "Was there ever a question?"

"No, I suppose not," Clove admitted. "Let's wait and see who gets Reaped from One and Four before we make any other decisions, though." Cato agreed, and from there the walk to the square was companionably silent.

They signed in at the booth and were directed towards roped areas marked off by ages, the oldest in the front. Clove should've been in the row smack in the middle, with the other fifteens, but she eschewed the nervous attendant's gestures and fumbling speech and stood at the very front with Cato. He glanced down at her, apparently surprised, and she grinned. "United front, remember?"

They turned their attention to the stage and the podium atop it. As soon as the clock struck two, the mayor- a mountain of a man and a former Victor- stepped up and began to read. Clove had listened to the same speech for her entire life, so she tuned it out and focused instead on the bored Victors and the escort, eyeing the woman's clothes with contempt. Two had no reason to use such finery; that was reserved for the vain fools of One. A dress made entirely out of bows looked quite impractical in a combat situation, anyway. She looked up, saw the sneer on Cato's face, and suppressed a snicker. He obviously found her silvery wig just as odious as she did.

The mayor finally finished the story and read the list of past Victors. Clove stood attentively for that. _Next year, he'll read out my name,_ she promised herself. All of the names are familiar from the hours of history class impressed on them.

The mayor stepped back, and the ridiculous escort tottered up in heels that made Clove snidely wonder if "escort" wasn't an intentional double entendre. She introduced herself as Lucretia, as if she hadn't been the escort for the past ten years, and began her usual speech about honor and prestige. Clove ignored her bubbly, high-pitched voice until there was a pause. It was time for the Reaping.

Lucretia bobbled across the stage to a large glass ball filled with the girls' names. She stuck her hand in and drew out a slip of paper. "Heather Samuelson!" she read out. Clove watched a flurry of movement two rows behind her, and a young-faced girl with red hair stepped out and walked onto the stage to stand next to her. There was no fear, no panic on her face. This was just a formality, and Heather surely knew it.

"Do we have any volunteers?" Lucretia asked, clearly already knowing the answer. It was a rarity for a tribute to not volunteer for their spot.

Sure enough, Clove drawled out, her voice steady, "I volunteer as tribute."

Lucretia clapped her hands excitedly. "Oh, how excellent! Come on up!" She shooed away Heather, who left gratefully. Clove strode out from the crowd, unbothered by the cameras broadcasting her face across the nation, on the screen in front of her so she could see the ice in her eyes. She scaled the stage and took her spot beside Lucretia. "So, dear, what's your name?" the escort asked.

"Clove Fuhrman," she responded smoothly.

"Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute, Clove!" Lucretia gushed, and the residents of Two obliged. Clove found Cato, clapping and smirking in the front row. She grinned.

"Now it's time to choose our boy tribute!" Lucretia grabbed another slip of paper out of a different glass ball and read the name aloud. "Antony Herold!" A boy wobbled out of one of the farthest rows, terror visible even from Clove's vantage point. _Silly thing,_ she mused. _He'll learn soon enough that no one falls into the Games by chance._

The boy stood next to Clove and offered her a watery smile. She spared him a contemptuous glance even as Lucretia asked for volunteers. Cato lunged forward, the movement sharp and designed to draw the eye as he called out, "I volunteer as tribute."

Lucretia didn't seem very surprised, but she politely sent off quivering Antony and welcomed Cato onto the stage. "Now, who might you be?"

"Cato Ludwig," he said with a smirk that made Lucretia blush beneath her makeup. Clove rolled her eyes.

"Everyone, let's applaud our latest tribute, Cato!" Lucretia started to clap, and the crowd did as well. Only Clove, a savage grin spread across her face, abstained.

The mayor reclaimed his spot at the podium and began to read the Treaty of Treason. Clove smiled her cold little Career smile and pretended to care about the crimes of years past. When he finished, he motioned for her and Cato to shake hands. They did so, Cato crushing her bones with his grip and Clove sinking her nails into his wrist before they turned to face the crowd.

 _Now the fun begins._


	6. Chapter 6

**[[Wow, go me! Three consecutive days and counting. Let's see how long I can keep this up.]]**

* * *

The anthem ended, and Peacekeepers swarmed Cato and Clove where they stood. They weren't rude, not by any means, their presence there just a formality. No one who had volunteered for the Games would even think of trying to escape- to do so would mean a brief lifetime of shame before their death. Cato and Clove were wholeheartedly committed.

The two split up once they reached the Justice Building, the doors closing behind them. Clove surveyed the plush carpets, curled her lip, and sat on one of the uselessly extravagant velvet chairs. This hour was allotted for the tributes to say goodbye to their loved ones. Clove didn't expect any visitors. She didn't have any friends, her mother had left long ago, and her father was so frequently assigned to other Districts as part of his Peacekeeper occupation that she doubted he'd be able to visit her.

So she was surprised when, five minutes into her forced solitude, the door opened and one of Cato's friends slipped in. It was the same girl Clove had attacked at lunch so many weeks ago, and she still bore the scars- thin nicks slanting into a smile. "Why are you here?" Clove asked, genuinely curious. "I seem to have missed the time we became best friends."

The girl rolled her eyes. "Don't kid yourself, Clove. Just thought I'd come and see you before you die." Her words might have been hostile, but her tone wasn't, a rarity when one dealt with Clove. Come to think of it, her face was devoid of the surly envy it had taken on during that ill-fated lunch.

"Well, you're the only one, so make it quick." Clove raised her arm mockingly and motioned toward a chair. The girl hesitated, then sat down, perching on the edge of the velvet cushion.

They sat in silence for a while before the girl finally spoke. "Just… look after Cato, okay? I know you don't like him, but…"

Clove turned to look her in the eye. "We're allies. I'll look after him." _For as long as that lasts,_ she might have added, but she didn't need to. The other girl was sharp enough to sort through the double meanings, had to have been to remain at the top of the social sphere for so long.

The other girl glanced down, fidgeting with the hem of the dress she'd optimistically worn. "Thank you." She was silent for a long moment. "This was supposed to be my year, did you know?"

Clove shook her head, reassessing the figure before her. She might've had the skill to be chosen, what with her strong form and apparent cunning. Clove had never seen her fight, never had realized she may have been a powerful adversary.

"This is it for me. I'm eighteen. I'll be ineligible next year. Funny thing is, I'm fine with that." The other girl shook her head, blinking away the water welling in her eyes. "I don't want to die. I know if I entered the Games, I would. I'm not strong enough. I can kill- have killed- but it breaks me. Do you dream of the people you've killed, the way the light drains from their eyes as they topple to the ground? I do."

Clove shook her head again, remembering the one she'd killed a few weeks prior. Ugly, unshaven man, reeking of all sorts of scum, sneering and spitting at her while she entered the small cell. He'd struggled against his chains as she raised her knife. She'd considered it more putting down a diseased animal than taking the life of a human. She'd felt no regret.

"Better you than me," the other girl said, only a trace of envy in her tone. "You'll stand a chance, might even win. And Cato likes you. He barely tolerates me."

Clove scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. I don't think he cares for me at all." Was she bitter? Surely not. She was just annoyed at the other girl, that was all.

The girl smiled wanly. "I'd never say something like that if it weren't true. Believe me, I don't want it to be."

"Jealous of me, sweetheart?" Clove smirked.

"A little, yes," she admitted. "But I've accepted that I am who I am, faults and all. You?" She shook her head, hair curling down her back. "Who are you, Clove?"

 _A killer. A hunter. A Victor._ But the words froze in her mouth, and finally the other girl sighed and nodded. "Good luck, Clove. I hope it's worth it." She rose from her seat, wrapped Clove in a hug too quickly for her to do as much as stiffen, and walked back out the door.

Clove sat in solitude for the rest of the hour.

* * *

Clove and Cato were piled into a car and driven to the train station. "So, which of your adoring friends came to see you off, Ludwig?" Clove asked in a tone that made it clear just how little she cared for his pack of sycophants.

He shrugged. "Everyone you met at lunch that one day, to tell me how lucky I was and that they were sure you'd be an easy target." At her scowl, he chuckled. "They'll learn soon enough. My mother and older brother, to say they were proud of me and that they knew I'd be victorious. Some of my 'adoring friends', as you called them, to pout and sob over the fact I'll be leaving until the Peacekeepers threw them out. What about you, Clove, anyone come visit you?"

"That one girl from lunch, the one who I carved her mouth open? She came in." Clove shrugged. "I don't even know her name, but she wished me luck."

"June? June visited you?" Cato looked rather astonished. "She's… generally not very friendly to other girls." Before he could say more, the car stopped at the train station, and they were let out.

Clove grinned savagely beneath the gaze of the cameras as she stepped out, knowing she'd have to be eye-catchingly vicious to make up for her smaller size. She was gratified to find on a nearby screen that she looked cold, ready for war. Beside her, Cato smirked arrogantly, fixing his eyes directly on a camera so it could catch a direct view of his brutal features. Clove rolled her eyes and grinned wider when the motion was caught on camera. Finally they were allowed inside, the doors closing behind them as the train began to move.

Lucretia led them to their private quarters, directly across from each other. "Everything is available here. There are clothes in the drawers for you to change into and private bathrooms on the sides. You have the run of this place; just be ready in an hour for supper!" She blew them a kiss before tottering off in her too-high heels.

Clove left Cato and went into her room, marveling at the exorbitant linens on the bed before she took a shower. The water was hot, unlike the icy trickles of water that passed for showers in Two, and she soaked up the warmth for a moment longer.

When she was finished, she dug around the drawers for something suitable to wear. There was an abundance of colorful, flowing dresses that she shoved aside in place of a tight jumpsuit. Cleaned up and presentable, Clove tied her hair back and waited for Lucretia to retrieve her.

Cato was already seated at the dining table when she arrived, looking handsome as ever in black with his hair freshly gelled. "Nice hair, Ludwig," she told him sardonically, taking a seat next to him.

"I live to impress you," he responded, offering a mocking half-bow.

Lucretia watched them interact with a bemused look on her painted face before clapping her hands together. "Oh, Brutus and Enobaria! Come in, have a seat!" she called brightly. The two Victors entered the room from another corridor, a flash of annoyance on Enobaria's face before it was wiped blank.

"Good evening, Lucretia. You're looking well," Enobaria told her as she sat gracefully in one of the chairs. "Cato, Clove. How lovely to meet you at last. We've been chosen to mentor this year."

Cato graced her with a polite smile. "I find myself eager to work with you both." He nodded to Brutus, who nodded back. "Don't mind Clove," he added when it became clear she wasn't about to exchange pleasantries. "Manners have never been her strong suit."

"I'm not going to need to be polite to win," she hissed back. "I can do that well enough on my own without resorting to tricks."

Enobaria eyed her. "'Tricks' though they might be, I find they make interactions in the Capitol much easier. You'd do well to follow the example of Lucretia or myself. We can always make you more callous later; it's rather difficult to fix a damaged reputation."

Clove mulled that over as the Capitol workers brought out courses of food: a chilled fruit soup, salad sprinkled with some sort of exotic cheese, steak and potatoes, a cheese platter and apples, a pie filled with berries. She ate steadily and found herself missing the simple protein bars, the wilted salads that had been mainstays of her diet. Capitol food was too rich in comparison.

When dinner finished, Lucretia led them to another compartment and left, clearly used to Victors telling her she wasn't needed during the strategy talks. Clove took the time to lie back on the couch and digest.

* * *

Brutus fit his name, a tower of muscle that hadn't faded over the many years since his Games. He and Cato had silently sized the other up, drawn a stalemate, and gotten to work. Listening to him speak, Clove decided he was little more than savagery made flesh. He liked to hunt and kill and not much else. If there was an inquisitive mind lurking within his hollow skull, it had long been cowed into submission. Now he advised Cato on the best approach to snap a man's neck and _smiled._

Beside him, Enobaria was a stick just waiting to snap. She was the pinched kind of skinny, flesh pulled too taut over razor-sharp collarbones and cheeks. Clove knew the Victor had more than enough money to eat well, enough money to grow fat and remove the excess with invisible knives like those in the Capitol did many times over. It was whispered that Enobaria wasn't all there. She'd lost control in the arena with her teeth, turned into a near-cannibalistic beast that not even her family at home had recognized, and now she was fighting for control in any way she could. But she was deadly and ferocious and absolutely committed to surviving, and so she had clung to life even as she starved.

Enobaria hadn't taken to Clove the same way Brutus had to Cato. The Victor had eyed Clove condescendingly, lingering on her small form with disgust or envy. "She's tiny," she had said to Brutus, like Clove was just a piece of the elaborate furniture. "Will she snap?"

And Brutus, confirming Clove's suspicions that he wasn't all that bright, had replied, "Next to Cato? Certainly."

Clove hadn't immediately done anything to make them change their minds. She'd sat on the couch as far away from Cato as she could manage without looking ridiculous and been the quiet listener while the others made small talk about the District. Now Brutus looked at Cato. "What strengths for him should we emphasize? Obviously, fighting skills. Handsome enough for the Capitol, but I think we should play up his brutality over anything else." He paused, contemplated. "You are brutal and bloodthirsty, aren't you? That's the expected vibe for you."

Cato smiled slowly, about to respond with some egotistic babble, but Clove cut in. "Yes, I think Cato would be able to kill very easily. He was the best in the class during the prisoner executions," she said in matter-of-fact tones. Enobaria turned to look at her, as if surprised she was supporting Cato. _As if._ "Oops, that isn't right. He was second-best. Who was the best again?" She paused to think for emphasis. "Oh, that's right. It was me."

Brutus was bewildered, Enobaria calculating. Enobaria gathered her thoughts first. "Unfortunately for you, Clove, no one will believe you if we give you the bloodthirsty killer angle. You're just a little… short. You could be a fun little surprise for the audience- all sweet-little-girl during the interviews and _wham!_ savage huntress in the arena."

Cato was already grinning, likely at the prospect of portraying Clove as a "sweet little girl". "I like that angle, Enobaria," he said with false detachment. "Very clever. Just make her more initially competent than that Mason girl a few years back- she needs to at least hint at a threat."

"No! I can't play 'sweet'! I'll- I'll-" Clove, for possibly the first time in her life, failed to put words to her arguments.

Mercifully, Brutus agreed with her. "No, Enobaria, she'll ruin that too quickly. She just isn't charming. We could never make her 'sweet'."

"Hmm." Enobaria thought for a moment, then snapped her fingers. "I know! 'Cute'!"

Cato lost whatever remained of his composure, throwing his head back and laughing. "Well, she fits the age limit for that," he managed to say. "Pink and ruffles and bows-" And then he was laughing again.

Clove tore her hands away from the leather of the couch, leaving gouges from her nails. "Cato, you know we'll both look ridiculous if you're dressed all frightening and I'm wearing pink," she entreated. She'd never used such a pleading tone with him before, but it seemed to have no effect.

Around her, Brutus and Enobaria were nodding in agreement. "I think it'll go over very well with the audience," Brutus said. "They like fierce little things with a sweet face and hidden murderous talents."

Enobaria looked idly over Clove. "Well, there's always makeup," she amended.

Clove scowled, nearly ready to threaten both of the mentors and maybe Cato for good measure, but she realized quickly just how stupid that would be. It wouldn't do to make threats before she'd won the Games, at any rate. "If that's all, I'd like to start watching the recap of the Reapings," she finally responded.

Enobaria and Brutus exchanged a quick flash of a glance. Were they surprised that a girl from Two had such restraint? She knew Cato would have been spluttering out as varied of threats as he could imagine. But neither of them chose to comment, and so Brutus turned on the screen.


	7. Chapter 7

Clove watched as the recap started with District One. The first girl to be called was immediately replaced by a volunteer, a gorgeous blonde with a name as disgustingly artificial as her smile. She glanced over in revulsion at Cato and saw him leer appreciatively at the girl's figure. "Pig," she spat, punching him on the arm.

"Jealous, Clove?" he replied, not tearing his eyes away from the screen.

"Of what?" she retorted sharply. "The slut onscreen? _Please._ She can have as much attention as those clothes warrant. I'd just figured you to not go for the easy ones."

Cato smirked. "Definitely jealous," he stage-whispered to Brutus.

"I don't blame you, Cato," the Victor responded, grinning wolfishly in a way that made Clove's skin crawl. "She's pretty fit. She'd probably be a hellcat in-"

"Stop tormenting the girl, Brutus," Enobaria interrupted. "Look, the boy's volunteering." And he was, jogging up onto the stage amiably.

"He's an idiot," Clove decided. "Look at his blank face. You might have found some competition, Ludwig."

Cato considered, shrugged. "He's not hotter than me, that's for sure. Maybe the stupidity is an act."

Clove snorted. "Uh huh. Do we actually have to ally with these people?" She turned away from the screen to look over at Enobaria.

"Alliances have existed with One and Four for years," the woman answered as if repeating a memorized speech. There was disdain in the curl of her lip as she surveyed simpering Glimmer, dull Marvel. "You will be expected to make nice with their tributes for as long as it takes."

Clove mulled that over even as the screen switched to Two. She watched herself volunteer, seemingly indifferent to the whole thing, and turn cold onstage. "Not bad, Clove," Enobaria told her. "That'll certainly draw some discussion. Confidence is especially important when you're so small."

Cato swaggered onto the stage next, smirk blinding even through the screen. "Cato, a little easy on the confidence," Enobaria continued. "A bit of arrogance is good, expected, even, for Careers. Too much and you'll appear unlikeable." He scowled at that, and Clove snickered.

Both from Three were utterly forgettable, scrawny little things that were Reaped instead of volunteered. The two from Four made Clove sneer again. "They're pathetic," she complained. "Shouldn't their volunteers be more, I don't know, _skilled_?"

"The volunteers this year are certainly not up to par," Enobaria agreed. "But that only means you'll need to stand out even more to outshine your duller allies. Take care to not get lumped together with their mediocrity."

They watched a redhead take the stage in Five, cunning written all over her pale face. "She's dangerous," Cato decided. "Too smart. If we don't catch her early, she'll just sneak around the entire Games and maybe even win."

"Doesn't look very strong," Clove said dismissively. "When it comes down to it, we can take her out. I'm sure of it." They sat in a rather bored silence through a slough of dull tributes, none volunteers.

"Oh, that one's a cripple," Cato noticed when the boy from Ten slowly took the stage. "I almost feel sorry for him. He's doomed. If he somehow survives the bloodbath, he's still screwed."

A tiny girl, even smaller than Clove, alighted on the stage in Eleven. "Looks like you have competition for the scrawniest tribute here, Clove," Cato snorted. "She can't weigh more than eighty pounds."

Clove bristled, then laughed as a giant of a boy climbed beside the young girl. "Looks like you have competition for the bulkiest tribute here, Cato," she retorted, then considered. "Well, he looks like he might actually be intelligent. Wow, he's two-for-two on you."

Cato scowled beside her, nearly ready to snap back before Enobaria interrupted. "Recruit that boy. He'd be a good fit in the alliance. Goodness knows you need someone less chatty and more powerful to balance the both of you out." She fixed them with a cold stare.

"We might as well turn off the screen now," Clove sighed. "It won't even be worth watching the scrawny things from Twelve be hauled on stage." Brutus nodded and was about to turn off the screen when Enobaria lunged out, snatching the remote from his grasp.

"Watch, you idiots," she hissed. "Look at that girl." Clove bristled at the slight but turned to watch as yet another petite girl started to climb the stairs, only to be pulled back by a clearly frantic girl with dark hair.

"I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!" she shouted with desperation, shoving the tribute behind her.

Cato glanced up at that. "A volunteer? In Twelve? There hasn't been one in what, how many years?"

Enobaria smiled grimly. "For long enough that it's something totally unexpected. Keep an eye on her- that one's trouble. No ordinary person would just save their sister like that if they didn't have an inkling they could survive."

"What about the boy?" Clove asked.

Enobaria glanced absentmindedly over the boy's build. "He's strong enough, but he was Reaped. Do whatever you like with him."

* * *

"Wake up, sweetie! Today's going to be a big day!" Clove winced at the piercing voice, painful even through the locked door as Lucretia called. The damned woman finally left, heels clicking on the wooden floors as she went no doubt to rudely awaken Cato.

Clove slipped out of the silky sheets and changed from one of the myriad impractical nightgowns into another jumpsuit, this one dark navy. She tugged her hair out of the bun she'd slept in and brushed it back into a sleek ponytail before tugging on a pair of working boots. _It's very strange that they know my exact size,_ she reflected. _Surely there isn't enough time from when I volunteered until I got on the train for them to find my size?_ Those thoughts left a chill down her spine, so she quickly exited the room.

The table was laden with a ridiculous amount of food. Cato smirked at her around a pastry when she sat next to him, eyes widened at the plate slipped in front of her. Brutus and Enobaria were already there, steadily working at their piles of eggs and bacon as Lucretia sipped from a mug a drink so sickly-sweet it wrinkled Clove's nose.

Clove began to wolf down her breakfast, the exquisitely rich food that soon made her too full to contemplate anything else. "Are we almost to the Capitol yet?" she asked, reluctantly setting down a half-eaten roll and taking a sip of her noxiously-sweet juice.

"Nearly." Enobaria lifted her head to look out the window. "In fact, I'd say we're almost there." Clove watched as the mountains drew closer and closer until their train became dark. The tunnel was long and pitch black as it whipped by, the train's dim light swallowed up.

And then there was blinding light again, and Clove and Cato rose and moved over to the windows, trying not to gape at the painful colors, the bizarre people with their painted skin and fanciful fashions. They were a toxic people, poison seeping into their blood and minds, and it showed.

People began to point at them, and Clove drew back at first, repulsed by their fervor. But Cato opened the window and started to wave, smirking when the people nearest to him tried to leap, hands outstretched hopelessly for his own. She slipped back to his side, noting the increased excitement among the Capitolites when she was back in view, and waved as well.

The train finally pulled into the station as Clove's arm was beginning to ache, and she let it drop gratefully. She left Cato to close the window and went back to her seat across from Enobaria, snatching another roll. Enobaria just sipped her tea and smiled.

* * *

Clove gritted her teeth and tried not to lash out at the blindingly bright prep team members poking around her, tearing off hairs in places she hadn't realized were so oversensitive to pain. Her skin was already raw, her nails filed into ovals. Try as she might to loathe the people, the epitome of excess and luxury and everything she'd been bred to hate, she couldn't. They were more plastic and dye than human.

They scurried away once they'd finished making her somewhat presentable, presumably off to fetch her stylist. He walked in a few minutes later, another grotesque face of purple dye in swirls against shocking yellow hair. She supposed the dye did cover up some of his wrinkles. He was Bac, Two's stylist for fifteen years, and renowned for his rather spectacular outfits.

Bac glanced up and down her body. If he was surprised to see how short Two's volunteer was, no emotion showed. "You'll work," he finally admitted. "We'll have to resize the costume, of course. You can lift weights, yes? It's heavy. But most from Two are strong."

Clove bristled beneath his gaze. "I volunteered for a reason. I can handle the costume."

"Ah, yes," he said in that ridiculous Capitol accent that grated on her ears. "I had forgotten. Come with me- I am sure you are hungry." He walked out without waiting for an answer and she stared in disgust at his footwear before remembering to follow.

A few hours later, she was dressed in a gladiator-inspired outfit, all heavy gold draped over her in sheets. Scales lined the front and the winged headpiece she wore, her hair braided straight down her back and studded with gold to catch the light. She scowled at her reflection in the mirror one of her prep team had lifted so she could see herself.

"Oh, don't do that, dear! We don't want the makeup to cake in your wrinkles!" Another of the prep team raced over and readjusted her makeup, and she tried to restrain another sneer, if only so she wouldn't choke on powder again.

Cato walked in then with his similarly over-the-top stylist, this one a woman with eyeshadow beyond her eyebrows. "Nice outfit, Clove. Are those heels?" he asked, smirking already. She noticed with annoyance that no one rushed over to fix _his_ makeup.

"You look good with mascara, Ludwig. I really think it suits you. Do you wear it often?" she retorted.

"Just as often as they draw fake muscles on your arms," he answered, laughing when her scowl deepened. "Oh, was I right? Lucky guess, I suppose."

She flushed at that, but before she could spit something back, they were summoned to the base of the Remake Center. She eyed the other tributes with disdain- what _was_ the purpose of the pink feathered headdress? why did anyone think silver discs around one's head would appeal to the audience?- before her eyes alighted on Twelve, standing away from all the rest and wearing full black.

"Still better than the year they were totally naked," Cato murmured in her ear, following her gaze.

She snorted. "I'll say. Were they trying to emphasize how deathly skinny their tributes were? That might be a fad in the Capitol, but no one wants to back a malnourished tribute." He chuckled even as their stylists led them to a chariot.

The chariot ride was far too long for Clove's taste, far too long to keep a fake smile pinned to her mouth. The corners of her lips were twitching with fatigue and disuse when they finally halted next to President Snow's mansion, but she forced herself to keep smiling while she listened to the President's dull address, as their chariot began to circle back to the Training Center. Only once they were enclosed did she let her smile drop.

"What the hell was that?" Cato hissed in her ear. "Did you see Twelve?" He swore quietly but viciously, watching them as they were extinguished by their stylists.

"Is that even legal?" she murmured back. "How did they manage to relate fire back to their District?"

"Coal burns, Clove," Enobaria told her as she strode up, Brutus in tow. "You'll just have to burn brighter. Do you think you can manage that?"

Clove glanced back at the boy, the dangerous, desperate girl, and nodded.


	8. Chapter 8

Her quarters in the Training Center were lavish bordering on preposterous. Clove gaped for a moment at the astonishing array of buttons before deciding to take a shower. _Hot water is well and good, but this many options is overwhelming,_ she thought grimly as she tried to rub off a persistent lavender scent after one button too many.

She did appreciate the heated mat, as well as the electric current to dry her hair, although she couldn't help but wonder if it would damage her brain somehow. The closet had far too many choices for her to be comfortable with, so she eventually chose an outfit at random and pulled it on.

Lucretia knocked, calling her to dinner. Clove scowled when she saw the stylists. "Do we really need them here?" she asked Enobaria in an undertone. "What good are they with strategy?"

"They'll design your interview outfits and then be gone so we can discuss your actual strategy," the woman replied quietly. "Take care to not reveal anything." _They'll sell your strategy to the highest bidder_ , her eyes warned.

"Of course not," Clove answered with a tight smile. "I like to think I'm not as dumb as Cato."

"Talking about me again, Clove? You really are obsessed with me, aren't you?" Clove barely managed to restrain a flinch as Cato's heavy arm landed on her shoulder. "Of course, not that I blame you. I'd be surprised if you hadn't fallen for me by now."

"Go be obnoxious somewhere else, Ludwig," she snapped, stepping away from his arm. "That isn't going to help you in interviews."

Enobaria's eyes flicked to the side at the stylists, off at the balcony chatting with Brutus and out of earshot before she spoke. "Actually, Clove, it probably will. People like their confident tributes from Two. If someone's strong like Cato is and _isn't_ confident, people will wonder if something's wrong, if they have some unknown deficiency or an inability to kill. It'll draw attention, but not the positive kind."

"But he thrives off negative energy," Clove griped, but she let the subject drop.

Dinner was a loud affair. She ate the delicious meal in quick bites so she could interject into the conversation, which varied from their own reception at the Tribute Parade, the outfits worn by Twelve, and the interview outfits.

"Her angle will be 'cute'," Enobaria told the stylists halfway through the main course, pointing at Clove with her little finger. "I'm thinking a short strapless dress, orange or maybe red, ruffles and sparkles and the like. Make it over-the-top. Makeup: do something about her eyes. Make them darker, more compelling, whatever you feel suits the dress." Bac nodded as he carved another piece of chicken.

"Cato's will be 'brutal'. His makeup should define his bone structure but other than that be totally unobtrusive. Black suit, nothing too fancy. A bit of leather, maybe on the shoulders, but not too much. We want all the attention on him, not his outfit," she continued. Bac looked a bit disappointed that he couldn't make Cato a creative masterpiece, but he nodded anyway.

Then they were back to discussing the parade- "That poor boy from One," Clove said at one point, her words beginning to run together somewhere after her second glass of the wine she'd never been allowed before. "Pink isn't even his color."- as dessert was served and finally the stylists took their leave. Enobaria ushered them all into a side sitting room, where the recap of the opening ceremonies had just begun.

Clove's head was foggy from the wine she'd consumed, and she alternated between dozing off and trying to watch intently. Finally, when her head dropped entirely to the side and she snapped awake, sending Brutus' combat reflexes haywire, Cato, smirking, told her she ought to go to bed and let the grown-ups talk.

Clove scowled at him, her mind still clear enough to remember how to do that even as she pulled herself off the couch and started for her room. "I told you she was a lightweight," she heard Cato mutter to Brutus as she left.

Not even bothering to pick out a nightgown, she peeled off her clothes and climbed into bed in her undergarments. The bed was soothingly soft, but somehow she couldn't manage sleep. Her eyelids were full of flickering fire and Snow's poison-scented breath and Caesar's booming laugh, all looped together until she was dizzy and sweating and trapped in the dream-that-was-not.

Somehow in her trance she heard the door open ever so quietly, and she sat bolt upright in bed, one hand foggily groping for her spare knife. Just as she felt its edge beneath her pillow, a voice distracted her. "Clove? Are you still up?"

It was Cato. Of course. Clove's shoulders relaxed even as she slid the knife back. "What are you doing here?" she mumbled.

"Making sure you found your way to your room and not, say, the elevator," he answered, standing in the doorway with the muted light of the hallway casting his face in shadow. He coughed, a funny, strangled sound that died halfway up his throat. "What are you wearing?"

Clove just then remembered the clothes on the floor and flushed crimson, yanking the sheets pooled around her hips up to her chin. "Don't look, lecher!" she spat, suddenly more alert than before.

She couldn't even see his face, but she just knew he was grinning. "I can see you're sobering up. Make sure to drink some water or tomorrow's training will be hell for you."

"Thanks for the advice," she replied dryly. "Now get out so I can go back to sleep."

"As the lady requests," Cato told her with a mocking half-bow. He left the room and shut the door, leaving her in darkness.

Clove reluctantly dragged herself out of bed and stuck her face under the faucet, gulping down water until she thought she'd burst. Then she climbed back into her bed and instantly fell asleep.

* * *

Clove woke late that morning to sunlight already streaming in the windows. She yawned, stretched, feeling just a hint of a headache and wondering why Lucretia hadn't come already to wake her. She forced herself into the shower and punched a few buttons, the cold water that poured forth seconds later shocking her fully awake.

She left the bathroom to find an outfit already prepared for her: black pants, black short-sleeved shirt with silver and red accents, and leather shoes. She slipped it on and slicked her hair back before going to the dining room.

It was already laid out with a buffet spread, manned by one of the silent, ever-present servants. The Avoxes made her skin crawl. What had they done to obtain such a cruel punishment, a fate worse even than death? They were traitors, she knew, but she was still repulsed by their contemplative silence. She couldn't even imagine living without speaking, without snarling and yelling and snarking. She'd rather die, or do something that would force them to kill her. She wouldn't stand there, dumb and mute, politely serving those who had done that to her.

Their weakness disgusted her.

She skirted past the pale-eyed young man, taking a plate and loading it with all the food it could fit. Clove dragged a chair up to the window and sat there, watching the people below begin to stir like neon prodded ants.

Cato stumbled out of his room a little while later, dressed identically to Clove. He filled his plate and sat next to her, close enough that she wrinkled her nose and loudly scraped her chair away. "I think I preferred your outfit last night better."

She flushed angrily at that. "Don't be crass, Ludwig. It doesn't suit you," she said stiffly, taking another bite of jam-filled pastry.

He grinned widely enough she could almost groan. _Why couldn't she just learn to not respond to his jabs?_ "Believe me, I was surprised, too. I wouldn't have thought lace suited you."

If he threw in a wink at the end, it was lost as Clove buried her head in her hands, shoulders shaking in silent indignation or humiliation or maybe just unhinged laughter. Whatever it was, she stayed there for a few moments before resurfacing to find Enobaria and Brutus already seated at the table.

"I'm not even going to ask," she heard Enobaria mutter to Brutus before addressing them. "Come over here and we'll get down to business." Clove left her chair and took one already at the table, munching on a sliver of melon as she watched Cato do the same.

"First things first. Would either of you prefer to be coached separately?" Brutus asked, leaning his elbows on the table in a way that would have made Lucretia cringe.

"What's the point?" Cato snorted, and for the first time, Clove had to agree with him.

Brutus sighed. "If either of you has some sort of secret skill you don't want the other to know about, we can split you up."

"That's totally pointless. You do remember we're allies, right? Everyone knows knives are my specialty, and Ludwig's not totally hopeless with a sword," Clove interjected. "How are we going to hide our strengths in a pack?" Cato nodded in assent beside her.

"It's just a formality, ease up, Clove," Brutus told her. "Tributes from Two rarely go for it. I've heard some of the other Districts- Twelve and their brethren- will do it if they have two decent tributes who aren't interested in alliances. But that's unimportant, since it seems neither of you want to be coached separately, which makes our job that much easier."

He leaned back, and Enobaria took that as her cue to begin speaking. "Let's discuss your strengths, then. Clove, you mentioned knives? How good are you?"

Clove flicked the knife out of her boot in one swift motion before the last syllables had even left her mouth, sending it hurtling toward the Avox that still stood by the buffet table. He didn't even have time to flinch before it had lodged in the wall right behind him, narrowly missing his neck.

Enobaria eyed her measuringly. "So you can aim at a still spot. How about moving targets?"

Cato laughed. "You saw her during the evaluations. If she throws a knife, it doesn't miss, moving target or not." Clove half-turned at that, surprised and suspicious when he came to her aid.

Enobaria drummed her fingers against the glass table. "Another formality, Cato. We're not supposed to know your strengths prior to your Reaping. It's a bit of an open secret that we do, of course, but there needs to be some sort of plausible deniability."

"What's the plausible deniability for Two's Training Center, then?" Clove asked, head tilted. She'd always wondered that one herself. Surely the Capitol knew about the barely-legal building; they had eyes and ears everywhere.

Brutus answered that one. "Why, it's to train future Peacekeepers, of course." He and Enobaria exchanged a secret smile. "Peacekeepers need to be taught from an early age how to handle any weapon, any situation. Just because most of the tributes from Two were trained there only goes to show how effective our Peacekeeper training program is."

Clove grinned at that. "So what is our strategy for today going to be?" she asked.

"Find your allies. One and Four are mandatory, the boy from Eleven if you can. You'll be expected to train with them, eat with them. Take the time to find out their strengths and weaknesses, and try not to let them find out yours," Enobaria answered, ticking the Districts off her fingers.

"Oh, and one last thing," Brutus added as they began to stand and push away from the table, nearly ready to find Lucretia and go to the Training Center. "You're a team; act like one."


	9. Chapter 9

**[[Thank you to all of my guest reviewers! I'm sorry I can't respond to you personally.**

 **Dear thgfan673, I actually had most of this chapter written when I read your review, but the idea tickled my fancy so much I just had to go back and change some things. Hope it suits!]]**

* * *

The descent on the elevator was barely a few seconds, just enough time for Lucretia to remind them to stick to their angles. Clove followed Cato wordlessly, noting the expansive room, its various stations. "And I thought Two's Training Center was nice," she murmured to Cato as the elevator closed in front of Lucretia. "Just look at those knives!" There were rows of them, so sinfully beautiful it'd almost be a shame to waste them on an inanimate target.

Cato caught her licking her lips and grinned. "Don't drool over those knives just yet, Clove. You might make a bad first impression on these innocent little tributes." She laughed at that, and he continued, "Well, they have no doubts about your sanity now, or lack thereof."

"We already discussed you using big words and why you shouldn't, Ludwig. You might give the tributes the impression you're actually intelligent. I think finding out the truth would be quite a shock to their systems." Clove stood a ways off from the already-gathered group, and Cato joined her.

They continued bantering, scorning the other tributes and the fact that everyone else was stiffly ignoring their District partners, until the final tributes arrived. District Twelve, late as usual. She curled her lip at them and drew in closer to listen as the head trainer began to describe the training schedule.

When Atala had finished explaining the rules, she let them all go. Clove and Cato stepped aside and watched as the tributes from One and Four began to make their way over.

"I'm Marina," the girl from Four introduced herself. "And this is Ethan." She indicated the boy next to her, a pathetic little child a good half-foot shorter than Clove who couldn't have been older than twelve.

Clove eyed them both with thinly-veiled distaste, softening her eyes with a smile. There hadn't been a tribute from Four capable of winning the Games since Finnick, and it didn't seem likely to change with this pair. "Charmed," she said with as much sweetness as she could muster. _Really, could Enobaria have picked an angle less-suited to her personality?_

"How lovely to meet you! I'm Glimmer," the blonde from One purred, eyelashes aflutter. Her simper stretched as her eyes landed on Cato, and Clove fought the urge to carve her pouting lips right off and instead kept her own smile in place.

"And I'm Marvel," the tall boy beside her added, sticking his hand out to Cato. They shook hands, then Marvel offered his hand to Clove. She raised a hand, only to have him seize it and bend over it, lips almost brushing her skin. "My lady, I have only seen you from afar, but you are even more radiant in person," he murmured. Torn between irritation and the strict command to appear "sweet", she let him posture for a moment before snatching her hand away.

"Thank you," she replied, throwing in a giggle at the end. It didn't sound totally authentic, but Marvel seemed to buy it.

"Yes, Clove's just a little ray of sunshine, isn't that right?" Cato drawled from her side. She glanced up and caught a flash of something unreadable in his ice blue eyes before it was gone.

"You flatter me, Cato," she replied, resisting the impulse to wipe the back of her hand on her clothes. Her skin itched. She'd have to wash it as soon as she fled from the group.

"I'm Cato, and this is my partner, Clove," Cato told the group as a whole. She couldn't help but notice how some of the words were heavier than others. "Now that introductions are over with, let's get started."

They moved as a group to the nearest station that Clove didn't automatically sneer at, which happened to be swords. Cato stepped up first, taking the sword handed to him by a trainer and waiting for the dummies to be set up. When the trainer nodded, he began, slicing open the dummies with swift, accurate moves. Clove had never really seen him fight with his preferred weapon, only glimpses as he trained across the room, and for the first time she truly understood just how very deadly he was.

It should have scared her that he was, should have scared her more that it didn't.

The dummies were destroyed more rapidly than Clove had thought possible, and soon Cato was tossing the sword back to the trainer, grinning as Glimmer clapped. "Anyone else want to take a shot?" he asked, but the other tributes declined. Clove hid a smirk at that, their silent admittance that they couldn't beat him. "You, Clove?"

"Gosh, I don't think I could ever match you," she told him, keeping her sweet smile firmly on her face as she lied through her teeth. "I'm pretty sure you taught me all wrong, anyway."

"And why would I do that?" He almost sounded wounded, but she saw the unrepentant smirk on his face. "All right, then. Spears?"

"I'm good at spears," Marvel spoke up.

"I might go learn how to throw a knife," Marina said softly, almost nervously. "I mean, there's always knives, aren't there? And…"

"You don't need to justify yourself. Go ahead." Cato swept his arm at the knives station, and Clove grinned at the mocking gesture. "How about you, Ernie? Going to learn about knives, too?"

"It's Ethan," the boy in question muttered. "And yeah, I guess."

Clove recoiled at the thought of pudgy, sweaty Ethan laying a single grubby finger on her knives. Marina was bad enough. Cato saw the disgust in her face and laughed. "Well, you might want to consider a different station. Clove looks practically homicidal."

"When doesn't she?" she thought she heard Glimmer mutter under her breath. Her back stiffened, but she ignored the petty girl. _For now._ Louder, Glimmer said, "Well, I've seen Marvel with spears enough times to know I'll be better off at another station. I'll go to the gauntlet." She waved over her shoulder, hips swaying as she strode away. Clove thought something nasty at her but kept the pleasant smile on her face and waved back.

"I'll stay, sure," Clove said. "Are you good at spears, Marvel?"

He winked at her and she instantly regretted her decision to stay as he began to describe his skill in a way so laden with innuendos that she heard the sharp sound of Cato's laughter as he left her to flounder.

* * *

Marvel was good at spears, even better than Cato. While Cato could send one through a dummy's heart from fifteen yards, Marvel could wield them like an extension of his arm, like Cato with his sword or Clove with her knives. Cato finally staggered back, defeated. "I'm going to the knives station. Going to join me, Clove?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Actually, I'd rather stay here. Maybe I can actually pick up a useful skill." Marvel seemed a little too eager at the idea, so she clarified, "From the trainers. Be careful with my knives, Cato." His first name was odd to say, harsher still than his last name, but she figured she'd have to use it to keep up her angle. Cute little girls didn't address their supposed friends by their last names, after all.

"There might not be anything left of them after Marina and Ethan," he warned her, grinning when the fingers of her hand curled involuntarily. He walked off, and Marvel thankfully did the same, heading to the gauntlet to watch as Glimmer took her turn.

Clove ended up waiting in line behind the girl from Twelve for the spears station. _You are so pathetic,_ she thought, staring at the girl's braid with enough force to scorch it. _A fiery outfit and holding hands with your square-faced partner? You thought that was really going to get you a victory? Darling, you've never played this game before. You're a pawn to be cleared before the other pieces have their fun and me? I'm the queen._

She was broken off from her internal tirade as she heard someone's raised voice. She turned to see Cato storming towards a heavy-lidded boy. "Hey, where's my knife? Huh? I put my knife right there! You took my knife! I know you took my knife! You liar! Little punk!" He was shouting then, shouting at the Peacekeepers as they dragged him away. "He took my knife! I'll kill you, Jason! Actually, yeah, I'll wait for the arena. You'll be the first one I kill, so watch your back, huh? You know who you're messing with, kid!"

Cato's voice echoed through the suddenly-silent Training Center as he shook off the Peacekeepers and stalked away. Clove felt cold. She'd needled him about being psychotic for the entire time she'd known him, but she'd only half-meant it. He'd never lost his temper in front of her before, never really gotten angry at her, either, for all she tried to antagonize him. He treated her more as an amusing pet, a dog who would nip his leg and growl but never actually threaten him. She'd never imagined him to lose his composure so entirely.

Alarm bells sounded in her head. _This is who you've aligned yourself with. This is who you're choosing to be in constant contact with. What will happen if he snaps? What will happen if he goes after you?_

She silenced her screaming instinct to separate herself from Cato, to flee before she could become a target. She heard a few hapless tributes chuckle quietly at the commotion and memorized their faces.

During lunchtime, she was sandwiched between a surly Cato and a sweaty Ethan who didn't seem to realize how far in her personal space he was. She elbowed him sharply to the ribs, and he winced but scooted farther down the bench.

Clove endured Glimmer's breathy retelling of the boy who'd fallen off the course and injured his leg, the coy glances she'd shoot Cato as her lips curled around a particularly juicy detail. She waited patiently as Marina talked enthusiastically about knives and how she really thought she was improving at them, and wasn't that great? She suffered through Marvel's stilted jokes and flirting that grew more creepily persistent the longer the day dragged on. She asked questions and made comments and tried to be as charming as she could until the corners of her mouth were twitching from the strain. Finally, afternoon training was finished and they returned to their apartments.

She was silent on the elevator, didn't speak as they entered the apartment. Then, her voice very soft, the same sweet tones she'd used all that morning, she asked, "What the hell was that, Ludwig?"

Enobaria, lounging on one of the couches in the sunlight, glanced up at that. "What happened, Clove?"

"Oh, nothing," she answered, her voice still quiet. He avoided her eyes, heaved himself down onto a chair. "Just Cato having a mental breakdown in front of everyone and the Gamemakers."

"You did what?" Enobaria's eyes snapped to Cato, lip curling to reveal a hint of pointed teeth.

"He stole my knife," Cato muttered sullenly.

"He stormed up to the kid in front of everyone, accused him of stealing his knife, and then almost tried to kill him," Clove clarified, still in that almost-gentle voice. "The Peacekeepers had to drag him away. Caused quite a scene, didn't it? What will people think of us now? That we're a laughingstock? Too vicious to be clever? Oh, those Careers, they were a force to be reckoned with once, but now you can just insult them and they'll whip themselves into a blind frenzy for you."

Enobaria looked as if she might vomit. "I'm sorry, I just don't understand. Whatever possessed you to ruin whatever chances you had at winning the Games?"

"I didn't-" Cato snarled and stopped, tried again. "I don't know what happened." He raised a meaty hand, rubbed at his forehead like it hurt.

"Well, you'd better figure it out and stop whatever it is before the Games! Your score had better be pretty damn high after that fiasco!" Enobaria laid her head in her hands. "I need a drink. Clove, please tell me you at least stuck to your angle."

"Oh, she was a perfect sweetheart," Cato snapped. "Flirted with Marvel and laughed at everyone's jokes and fooled all of them and didn't kill all the losers who snapped her knives before she'd even had a chance to use them."

"They did what?" Clove raised her head, eyes narrowing. "Those… I'll kill them for that, I will."

"See, Cato? Now is an _acceptable_ time to be completely and utterly enraged! When no one can see you!" Enobaria lifted her head for long enough to cry that in exasperation before she slumped back down. "Go ahead and have dinner without me. I need to find a way to resolve this problem and persuade sponsors that you're not a liability." She hauled herself to her feet and wobbled into one of the side hallways, leaving them alone.


	10. Chapter 10

The next day, Clove ignored Cato's glowering as he stabbed at his breakfast. "I think I'll show off a bit today," she announced to the table. "Check out their knives, see what quality I can expect."

"Good, Clove," Enobaria nodded. "Keep up the angle. The other tributes should have no idea what you're really like until the Games start."

"I will." Clove took another bite of some fruit she'd never heard of, sweet and tangy.

Cato didn't glance up from his food. "And what would you like me to do, Enobaria?" he asked with cold courtesy. He'd been sulking in silence the whole evening before, and now it seemed he'd used politeness to put another veil between himself and his humiliation.

She pondered a moment, tapping her fingers against her chin. "Show off, too. The first day was to scope out the competition; now you can shine. Go ahead and recruit the boy from Eleven, but make sure to emphasize your talents. Swords, even as a repeat, would be a good idea to prove to the Gamemakers you can be counted on. You said Marvel was better at spears than you? Skip those and try something else. There's wrestling still, isn't there? You need to prove to the other tributes you are undefeatable on multiple levels."

"Wrestling, weights, anything that'll really show off your strength," Brutus added as he tore a piece of bread with his teeth. Clove wrinkled her nose. "If you can intimidate some of the other tributes, do that. And if Eleven doesn't want to play, you'll need to be more threatening still. Clove, try to appear deadly but still sweet. Don't go showing all of your talents off at once. Knives, yes, but steer clear of anything forceful."

With that advice, she and Cato rose and went back to the Training Center.

* * *

"Oh, Cato! Over here!" Glimmer's high-pitched voice was the first sound to reach Clove's ears as she stepped off the elevator. She wore pigtails this time, a style so juvenile Clove repressed a shudder and instead beamed at the other girl like they were long friends. Marvel was already beside her, clapping Cato on the back and leering at Clove.

"The ones from Four aren't here yet," Marvel told them offhandedly. Clearly he didn't think too highly of them, either. "Guess we'll just have to start without them."

"What a shame," Cato drawled. Glimmer giggled, playing with the ends of one of her pigtails. "I'm going to swords again. Anyone else?"

"Oh, I'm supposed to go to archery," Glimmer said with a pout. "It's my talent, and my mentor really wants me to showcase it."

Marvel added, "Yeah, she's pretty good," and the blonde preened, glancing up at Cato through her lashes.

"Oh, how wonderful for you," Clove gushed. "That sounds like such a difficult skill to learn!"

Glimmer glanced over at Clove, but she didn't seem to notice any discrepancy between her tone and her face. "It did take a while, but I'm so glad I learned it. It's not a messy weapon, either, so I won't have to risk blood splatters."

"Wow," Clove said, seemingly enthralled. "How nice that you've found a weapon so well-suited to you. Where do you plan on going, Marvel?"

The boy shrugged. "Probably spears again, maybe the ropes later. Play to your strengths, Gloss told me. Want to come with, Clove?"

"Oh, goodness, I wish I could, but my mentor told me to go to knives." Clove mimicked Glimmer's disappointed pout. "I'm sure you'll do great, though."

Marvel grinned at that, and from there the pack dispersed. Clove took her time walking across to the knives, watching the other tributes out of the corner of her eye. She saw two boys manage to light a fire and jump back, startled, and rolled her eyes. There were some kids fighting with heavy weapons she didn't recognize, but none looked particularly capable at it. Twelve's duo was huddled in front of a snare in the fake grass. She felt her lip twitch into a sneer at that and banished it from her expression just as she reached the knives.

The trainer handed her a set of knives and started to explain how targets would light up periodically and she'd have to throw knives at each of the lit targets in order to turn it off. "Do you need a refresher course in how to throw?" he asked, looking at her somewhat dubiously.

Clove smiled brightly at him, running her finger down the edge of one of the blades. Oh, these were good ones, all right, sleek and sharp and light. "I think I've got it, thank you," she told him.

He activated the session. Lights began to glow red around the human silhouettes. She took a breath, feeling ice control her movements as she raised the first knife.

Once she'd learned to throw a knife, she'd never missed.

These stationary targets were no challenge at all.

She threw knife after knife, hitting the bullseye over the heart every time, until the last glowing light winked out.

Clove felt eyes on her back, the same attention she'd received during her District evaluation. But she ignored it, smiled at the trainer as she handed him the extra knives she hadn't ended up needing and walked off.

* * *

They sat in a group at lunch again, noticeably without the boy from Eleven. "You didn't recruit him, Cato?" Clove asked, voice light.

He was more relaxed than before. Slicing dummies open seemed to be soothing, she reflected. "I tried. He wasn't game," Cato said with a shrug. "He's the one that's missing out, not us."

"So, Clove, that was some impressive work with your knives earlier," Glimmer purred, almost conversationally but for a hard set to her eyes. "I didn't realize you were quite so talented."

Clove smiled sweetly. "Oh, that's so kind of you, Glimmer. I've been throwing knives for how many years now? Six? Seven? I'm afraid I'm not as good as you are with a bow, though." Her modesty might have sounded real, but it wasn't, and Glimmer's eyes narrowed a shade, unsure as to her honesty. She'd seen Glimmer at the archery station, watched her launch an arrow and fail spectacularly. Clearly she wasn't going to win the Games by her skill alone.

"How about you two?" Clove asked, turning to look at Marina and Ethan. "Learn any new skills?"

"Some knots," Marina said softly. "How to light a fire. I went back to the knives station and I really think I'm improving." She paused, seemed to gather her courage. "Would you teach me, Clove? You're just so good with knives…"

Clove flicked a glance at Cato, who smirked and carved another bite of turkey. "I'd love to, Marina, but I really don't know how much use I'd be," she told her in a tone that might've passed for apologetic. "I've never taught someone before. I don't think I could. I think the trainers would be better suited to help you with that." Cato glanced up at Clove, clearly thinking of the time she'd spent teaching him to throw a knife, and she glared for just an instant. _Don't you dare make me tutor this idiot_ , she would've hissed if it wouldn't ruin her image.

Fortunately, Marina dropped the subject, and they spent the rest of lunch chatting about inconsequential matters until it was time to resume.

* * *

Halfway through, after another bout with knives, Clove came over to Cato and Marvel, who were standing by one of the spear racks and chuckling. "What's so funny?" she asked.

Cato nodded at the ropes course, and she followed the movement to find the boy from Twelve struggling and failing to scale the rope ladder. She folded her arms and leaned against the rack, a cold smirk fighting through the blank sweetness that had strengthened with each hour. "He isn't doing too well, is he," she remarked with glee.

"He's had to restart twice," Cato told her, and this time there was no disguising the ferocity of her grin.

Glimmer skipped over to join them from another station, braids flying. "Oh, is he about to fall?" she asked brightly. "One boy fell yesterday from the other ropes course, but he was maybe thirteen. How old is this one, do you think?"

"Old enough he should be able to do this," Marvel snickered. Just then, the ropes swung wildly, and the boy came tumbling to the ground. They all burst into laughter. Clove watched as his face turned red, crumpled on his side and gripping the leg he'd hurt in the fall. The dark-haired girl from his District trotted over, leaning close to him and whispering something inciting enough that he hauled himself to his feet.

Slowly the boy stumbled toward a rack and grabbed one of the massive medicine balls, the one Cato'd been lifting earlier. It'd been a strain, even for Cato, who was solid muscle, and they watched hungrily for him to drop it, to fail.

The boy threw the medicine ball and sent it crashing into a weapons rack, the noise jarring. Clove felt her own eyes widen. This boy was far stronger than he looked. She heard a gasp and turned to see Glimmer, who'd fallen back as if the boy'd thrown it at her, one hand clutching at her chest. Even Marvel and Cato seemed impressed, however reluctantly. "Not bad," Cato said, turning back to them. "Of course, strength won't help him when he's dead."

The group laughed at that, but it wasn't the same confident, self-assured sound it had been before. They had been rattled. _Maybe these Games won't be as easy as I'd thought._

* * *

The third morning, they gathered to watch odds as they went up. "Three to one for you, Cato!" Glimmer chirped, leaning in close as if to bask in his success. "That's the highest odds of everyone!"

"Five to one for me. Oh, and Clove. Wow, how'd that happen?" Marvel asked jokingly. She grinned and made as if to punch him.

"I'm just as surprised as you are. I think District Twelve's odds suit you better," Clove replied, nodding at the ridiculously disproportionate odds in the last box. He laughed at that.

During lunchtime, they were called out for their private sessions. Marvel left first, already swaggering and blustering, as they shouted fake encouragements at him. "Try not to stab yourself in the foot!" "You won't miss if you don't get nervous, so just don't get nervous!" "Now, this might seem like the most important part of your life, but relax! Getting a bad score will only mean you'll not get sponsors and die."

He didn't come back, but Glimmer's name was called over the speaker. Waving brightly and winking at Cato, she strode out of the room. Clove felt her shoulders relax as she left.

"Any idea what you two'll do?" Cato asked Marina and Ethan.

Ethan shrugged. "Maybe throw knives or something. Whatever I can do." _It won't affect how anyone perceives you, that's for sure,_ Clove thought contemptuously, eyeing his short, round build.

"I'll throw knives as well." Marina was still soft-spoken as ever. "It's the only logical move for me. I can't really do anything else." She glanced down at that, shame scrawled across her face. _You should be ashamed,_ Clove thought viciously. _Ashamed at your own weakness, that no one volunteered for you, that you come from a Career District but are so woefully unprepared you're just a liability._

She was snapped out of her thoughts when Cato's name was called over the speaker. "Good luck, Cato," she said, a challenging set to her smile.

He grinned. "No kiss for luck?" His smirk widened as she scowled. "Good luck to you, too, Clove. And you both," he added as an afterthought. Marina smiled wanly as she wished him luck, and then he was gone.

Clove stared at the remnants of food on her plate, focusing on her breathing and the way her eyes narrowed, her face became taut, as she grew colder. Faintly she registered her name, and barely remembered to smile at Marina and Ethan as she rose and walked out of the room.

The gymnasium was eerily empty. She walked through it, a silent ghost passing through the stations. She came to a stop in front of the knives and picked one up, her finger gliding along its edge. Oh, these were beautiful knives, excellently-crafted. The ones she'd picked up over the years were good, decent-quality knives well-honed and familiar in her hand, but they didn't even come close to the beauties in the Capitol.

Clove held the first knife, hefted it in her hand, before almost casually throwing it at a target. Bulls-eye. She picked up another one, cruel, with a curved blade. Good for tiny, precise cuts. That one was flung at a bullseye, too. And then she was throwing them faster and faster, at any target she could find- the dummies Cato'd been slicing that morning, the boxing sandbag, one of the dangling ropes. She heard a gasp when that last knife sunk into the twisted rope, fraying it halfway. She hoped one of the other tributes would be dumb enough to climb the ropes after she'd finished.

"Thank you, Miss Fuhrman," a voice finally said, breaking her out of her reverie. "That'll be all." She'd filled up all of the allotted time with her knives.

"Thank you for the opportunity." She didn't even have to fake her beam as she laid down the few remaining knives and exited.

Outside, she was surprised to find Cato waiting for her. "Why didn't you just go up?" she asked as they stepped into the elevator.

He shrugged. "Wanted to see the expression on your face when you left. You look pretty smug; you must've impressed them." The doors opened, and they stepped out and into the apartment.

"I hope so," Clove confessed, the iciness that had possessed her beginning to splinter. _I survived._ "I didn't miss a single throw, and I think I heard one of them gasp when I threw one at the rope ladder."

"I didn't think that was possible," Cato laughed. "Good for you, pet. Maybe they'll give you a good score."

"How'd you do?" Enobaria asked eagerly, twisting from her spot next to Brutus on the couch.

"Good," Cato answered for both of them. "I heard them whispering at the end of mine. They weren't sober enough to be subtle, so I definitely heard they were impressed."

Enobaria nodded at that. "And you, Clove?"

She grinned, the cold expression much more at home on her features than the sweet little smiles she'd been wearing the past few days. "I did perfectly. Didn't miss a throw, even though I did some pretty crazy ones," she boasted.

"Very good." Enobaria seemed pleased. "Come and sit down. We've got some time to waste before dinner, so we might as well start discussing interviews." Clove sat and leaned forward, and they began.

* * *

Dinner dragged on far too slowly for Clove's liking. She nudged impatiently at her food, taking irritable bites of it before glancing around to see how close everyone else was to being finished. She locked eyes with Cato, who appeared to be just as aggravated as she was. "Scared I'll beat you, Ludwig?" she challenged, his last name much more natural. Safer.

His eyes lit up, and they began to banter, a side conversation that lasted the rest of the dinner until Enobaria finally pushed back from the table.

They went into the sitting room, Lucretia and the stylists tagging along. Clove found herself squashed in between Cato and vile Bac on a couch meant to seat two. Nose wrinkling, she shifted closer to the lesser of two evils, who smirked at her as the screen flickered on.

Marvel's face was the first one to be displayed by Caesar. "Marvel receives a score of nine," Caesar said, already sounding impressed.

"Guess he didn't drop one on his foot after all," Cato murmured in her ear, and she snorted.

A particularly-flattering shot of Glimmer was next. Eight. Clove smirked at that, the practically-mediocre score the girl had received.

Cato's likeness scowled onscreen. Ten. Everyone burst into congratulations, slapping him on the back. Clove just smirked up at him. "Could've done better," she commented.

Then her own face was up. A cold little grin twisted her mouth, and she looked ruthless as a number flashed below her face. Clove held her breath. Ten. She exhaled as the team began to cheer the remarkable scores of both tributes. Cato grinned down at her. "Could've done better," he parroted in a high-pitched impression of her voice.

"You both did very well," Enobaria cut in. "I'd be quite surprised if anyone else were to receive the same score."

They settled back and watched with shock as Ethan got an eight. "That kid? That scrawny little child who could barely throw a knife got the same score as Glimmer?" Clove couldn't decide if she was more surprised he'd gotten above a three or amused that his skill somehow equated to Glimmer's.

Marina got a suitably mediocre score, as did a long stream of tributes until Eleven. The boy- Thresh- got a nine, and the tiny little thing Clove'd seen hiding behind a pillar had received a seven. She bit her lip as the boy from Twelve's face flashed. Eight. So his strength had been enough to be comparable to two Careers? Her gaze flicked to Cato's, but he seemed more fixated on the new face. Eleven.

"Eleven?" Clove snapped, eyes hardening. "That's bull. How'd she pull that one off?"

Cato had frozen beside her. "I don't know," he murmured, his voice very quiet and very deadly.

Brutus snarled obscenities as the screen turned off again, the program concluded. "How'd a girl from _Twelve_ get an eleven?" he growled. "How the hell did she beat both of you?"

"I've never seen her be anything more than mediocre," Clove answered, stunned. "Okay at spears, spent most of her time building fires or making snares. The boy got his score probably from throwing heavy things around- we saw him launch one of those medicine balls across the room. But her? I have no idea in hell how she managed to get that score."

Enobaria was silent, thoughtful. "Go get some sleep," she finally said. "We'll think about this some more, but you both need to rest for tomorrow. You have interviews in two days, don't forget."

Clove rose in a blur, barely noticing Cato stand beside her, his hands clenched in white-knuckled fists. She was shocked, but he was pissed. And she didn't know what that would mean for her.


	11. Chapter 11

The next day was spent preparing for interviews. They spent the morning with Lucretia for presentation. Clove'd worn heels on the chariot, but she hadn't had to do much more than stand in them. Lucretia stuffed her in a towering pair and a short, frilly dress with a low neckline she kept hitching up and then Lucretia would smack her hands and yell, "Don't fuss!"

She thought Cato might start crying from laughing so hard.

Walking was difficult. She bobbled at first, clinging to the wall in case her legs were to give out suddenly, but Cato's jibes finally made her let go. There were a few very near misses, where she stepped wrong and felt the shoe twist beneath her, but she somehow managed to keep her footing.

When she'd mastered walking, she slumped down in a chair as Cato took his turn. He swaggered across the room once, emanating confidence and casual superiority. Lucretia just clapped her hands and said they could move on.

She had Clove sit down into a deep plush chair dozens of times until she could do it gracefully, without falling backward or exposing anything. Then she had to stand back up without appearing to struggle out of the chair. Cato had to go through the same process before Lucretia was satisfied.

"Posture time!" Lucretia trilled. She seated them both side-by-side and focused on the positions they'd maintain throughout the interview. Clove sat very straight with her legs crossed at the knee, hands folded in her lap. Cato was allowed to lean back, leg folded over the knee, one hand on his ankle. Lucretia had them both sit like that for three minutes while she corrected their posture constantly, then another three where they were expected to maintain it on their own.

Eye contact was effortless for both of them; neither was shy in the least. Lucretia more focused on Clove, teaching her how to incorporate coy downcast looks into her repertoire and soften her eyes. Gestures for Clove were as minimal as possible, with no punctuation or douchey head tilts; for Cato, he had to use his free hand for emphasis.

Smiling was mostly about smiling more, at least for Clove. Lucretia shuddered at how Clove's face naturally assumed a cold, vicious grin when told to smile, so she instead made her give a close-lipped, almost knowing smile. Cato was told to not smile at all, unless it was absolutely required. "It makes you more likeable, more open when you smile," Lucretia told him. "We don't want open. We want brutal."

For the last bit of time before lunch, she had them work on handshakes. "You both have very confident handshakes," Lucretia praised. "Clove, a little softer. You don't want to rattle the man, do you?" Clove grinned, not the sweet, harmless smile she'd just learned, and Cato laughed.

After lunch, they went off with Enobaria and Brutus for content. Clove and Enobaria sat away from Brutus and Cato, but still in the same room.

"So, Clove, how've you been doing with the angle?" Enobaria asked.

Clove softened her eyes from their usual hard glint and gave her one of the sweet smiles Lucretia had taught her. Enobaria grinned back, pleased. "Very well then, I see. Cato? How did the other Careers perceive her, do you think?"

Cato glanced over in mid-smirk. "Glimmer wondered why she was even there in the first place. Said she was too young and too naïve to volunteer at all, asked who she'd stolen the spot from."

Enobaria nodded as Clove clenched her fists. She'd worked for that spot, had earned it fair and square. But she couldn't let the bimbo know until the Games had begun. "Very good." She turned back to Clove. "Let's work on your charm, shall we?"

They sat there for hours, Clove answering all kinds of questions with liberal amounts of those gentle smiles. She couldn't keep all of the sarcasm, all of the arrogance out of her tone, but Enobaria told her not to worry. "Give them a hint of what they can expect in the arena. They'll be wondering if you aren't a little bit haughty."

Halfway through, Enobaria switched with Brutus, and Clove had to feign charm in front of the man who still disgusted her. She remembered how sweet she'd been with Marvel fawning over her and stuffed down all evidence of her revulsion. She'd have to, anyway, if she didn't want to sneer at plastic-and-dye Caesar in front of everyone.

When they were finally finished, Clove left to take dinner in her room, exhausted from having to appear perky and friendly for so long. She ordered a variety of foods and ate silently, turning on the screen to a rerun of an old Games. As it began, she summoned an Avox and asked for a notebook and something to write with. The Avox didn't return, but Cato did, brandishing her notebook and pen like they were some sort of prize.

"What do you want, Ludwig?" she asked tiredly. She'd spent the entire day with him already. Surely he was sick of her, too.

He shrugged, ambling across the room and flopping beside her on the bed. "I figured if we're both going to watch reruns, we might as well do it together so we can compare notes." He had his own notebook, she noted as he tossed hers over.

"You were going to watch reruns?" She caught the notebook and flipped it open to a blank page.

He shrugged again. "I've got nothing better to do. There's only so long you can stare in the mirror, even if you're as handsome as I am." That was accompanied with a slow grin, and she rolled her eyes.

"Egotistic to the last," she muttered as the screen flickered and began to play.

"You didn't deny it," he pointed out, and she punched him even as she rolled onto her stomach, a pillow tucked under her chest. He mimicked the action. "Is this what girls do at sleepovers?" he asked, glancing over at her. "Watch gory movies and take notes?"

"I wouldn't know." She might have been bitter, might've just been tired. "I didn't have friends who would invite me to them."

"Poor misanthropic Clove," Cato sighed. "You traded your friendships for power. Isn't that better?"

A smile curled her lips. Of course Cato's bluntness would be the one thing to bring her comfort. "It is, I suppose. Friends don't matter in the Games, anyway." She paused to consider the boy beside her, the careful poker face he was keeping as he scrawled something down. "Allies? Those are important."

* * *

The next morning, she woke to find Cato gone and her grotesque prep team hovering above her. She nearly screamed, but managed to smother it and plaster on a sweet smile. It seemed to fool those idiots, at least, as they all beamed and giggled and chattered with excitement.

They turned her into something soft and lovely, with smooth skin and nails painted a nice neutral pink, collarbones highlighted. They put powder over her face, smothering her freckles, before having a quick argument and taking it off. The next layer was lighter, sheerer, evening out her skin without hiding her features. She watched in the mirror as her eyes became darker, more compelling, her lips and cheeks the same pale pink hue.

One of the team members took her hair, styling it sleek and straight before twisting up the top half in a series of coils. The rest was left to drape down her back, and she curled her lip at its new flowery fragrance.

Then Bac walked in, holding something in a bag. "Close your eyes," he told her. She did so reluctantly, and they lowered the dress over her head. It was lightweight, the fabric hitting just above her knees. Two of the prep team helped her step into her shoes, and she was relieved to find them a good couple of inches lower than the ones she'd stumbled in before. "Now you can open them."

The girl standing in the mirror was utterly unrecognizable. She stared back at Clove, all dark eyelashes and gauzy ruffles and a small, cold smile. The dress was a pale orange that should've been hideous on her but wasn't, darker at the top where it tied at her ribs in a bow. She could've claimed she was too young to volunteer for the Games and people would've believed her.

She'd never appreciated dresses, never understood the effect they could have. But even with that haughty Career look, she still was captivating, almost smoldering. "I don't think this is quite aiming for 'cute'," she finally murmured.

Bac shrugged. "My outfit, my rules," he reminded her. "Go for 'sweet' instead. I think it'll suit you better."

"Thank you," Clove whispered, still gazing at her reflection. Could she really look like that, flawless and poised and almost innocent? She'd certainly shock the Capitol. She'd already surprised herself.

* * *

She and Bac met up with the others at the elevator. Her eyes slid down Cato, strikingly handsome in a dark navy suit. He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Never thought I'd see you in a dress, Clove."

"The chariot outfit was practically a dress," she countered. A sly grin slid across her face. "Well, we did have matching costumes. Does that make you a-"

"You both look lovely," Enobaria interjected. She did, too, dressed in a fancy gown and gold dusted around her skin. Brutus looked distinctly uncomfortable in his formal suit, Lucretia practically bubbling over with excitement in her crazed Capitolite attire.

They took the elevator to the stage. Glimmer and Marvel were already there, being lined up to take the stage. Glimmer was dazzling in a pale pink dress and golden curls, while Marvel's tacky suit made Clove wrinkle her nose for just an instant before she smoothed her face out and beamed at them both.

"Ready to go?" Marvel asked them both.

Clove smiled sweetly. "As ready as I'll ever be," she replied.

Glimmer was called up onto the stage then, skipping almost giddily up the steps. Cato leaned against the wall, head tilted, and Clove felt herself fold her arms and sneer at the blonde as she giggled and flirted with Caesar. Finally her buzzer sounded, and she left the stage as Marvel was called up.

His angle must've been amiable or witty, but Clove could do nothing more than wince at his jokes, his attempts at humor that fell flat. _Surely if one wasn't intelligent, one wouldn't want to call attention to that fact?_ she wondered. All too soon, his time was up, and her name was called.

"Good luck," she heard Cato murmur behind her, and she nodded once as she swallowed, mouth suddenly dry.

Her legs somehow managed to support her up the stairs. She held her skirts the way she'd practiced with Lucretia as she strode across the stage over to Caesar, sweet smile on her face, and shook his hand.

"So, Clove, you're fifteen, which makes you a good deal younger than the average tribute from your District. What made you decide to volunteer this year?" he started as soon as she was seated, legs crossed daintily.

"Well, I'm not getting any younger, am I?" Clove answered brightly. The crowd laughed. "I'm at the top of my game now, and I figured it'd be fun to go up against Cato."

"Ah, yes, your District partner. You two are allies, right? How do you think that will impact your chances?" Caesar asked her.

"Really, I'm the one doing him a favor by agreeing to it," she responded, her voice dry but her smile soft. The audience chortled. "We both have very different strengths, so our alliance should prove beneficial to us both."

"He's not too bad to look at either, is he?" Caesar nudged her slyly and she dimpled back.

"I'm not complaining," Clove told him conspiratorially, giggling when he drew back as though in shock.

"It'd certainly be hard to. Now, Clove, is there someone back home you're determined to win for?" Caesar asked, tilting forward.

She grinned, and she was arrogant when she replied, "Myself, of course. Do I need anyone else?"

"Certainly not!" Caesar chuckled. "You look to be perfectly capable on your own. So, what will be your greatest strength in the arena?"

"I can handle a lot of different weapons, but I'm best at knives." Clove smiled and glanced downward modestly, almost coyly, ducking her chin for a split second. "And there's usually knives in the arena, so I think I'll do just fine."

"I bet you will with that training score! A ten, very impressive. Were you surprised to hear what score you'd gotten?"

She shrugged, the movement flicking her dark hair off her shoulders. "Not really, no," Clove admitted. The crowd laughed again, laughed at her careless arrogance juxtaposed with sweetness. "Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled I got such a high score, but I did volunteer to win, after all. And that's what I plan on doing."

"We look forward to watching you," Caesar said just as the buzzer sounded. "It looks like we're out of time. Best of luck, Clove Fuhrman, volunteer from District Two." She smiled at him, again at the audience, and strode off.

She was seated in a row with Glimmer and Marvel, who both eyed her speculatively. She ignored their questioning glances and focused on Cato as he took the stage, cold and brutal and bloodthirsty. He leaned back confidently in his chair and answered Caesar's questions easily.

He spoke at length about honor and pride, duty and prestige, but the one thing that stuck out in Clove's mind was when Cato told the audience, "I'm prepared, I'm vicious, and I'm ready to go." There was a cruel twist to his mouth, a heartlessness suggested by his words and emphasized by his menacing appearance. Whatever impression she'd just made on the Capitol? She'd be lucky if they even remembered her name.


	12. Chapter 12

Cato sat beside her once his interview was finished, a self-satisfied smirk in place. She glanced at him once, then ignored him in place of watching the other interviews.

A few of the tributes stuck out. Marina was quiet, Ethan far too cocky for a boy of twelve. The redhead from Five was clever and sly. The cripple from Ten was quiet, almost shy. The tiny girl from Eleven was outspoken, her partner sullen. The girl from Twelve walked up, again clad in some flaming gown. But what substance did she have, really? Clove narrowed her eyes as the girl spun and burst into a flame that made the audience cheer.

Then the boy from Twelve began, and she knew he was trouble from the start. He was too charming, too funny, too casual about it all. And then he said he was in love with his District partner, and the whole thing went to hell.

Clove froze, her back rigid as she saw the audience react with sorrow, pain, horror. _No, no, no! Be cold. Controlled. He'll die, and the audience will forget just how much they empathized with him once the blood starts flowing._ She found her breath again and consciously began to relax every tense part of her. It wouldn't do to have a Career frightened of a tribute from Twelve, now would it?

They stood for the anthem and then were finally allowed back into the Training Center. Clove got into an elevator car with Cato and three other tributes who she could barely remember. Their floor was first to be let off.

As soon as the elevator doors closed behind them, Cato turned to her with a grin. "So, Clove, what exactly was it that you said?"

She groaned and flung herself onto a couch, burying her face in her hands as though it could cover her flush. "I said a lot of things, Ludwig, you'll have to be more specific than that," she answered, her voice muffled.

She felt rather than saw him sit down too close to her, looming over her, his breath warm on the exposed skin of her neck. A shiver coursed through her as he spoke. "You told Caesar I was handsome. Why wouldn't you tell me?" he murmured. Oh, he'd finally discovered the one thing that made her uncomfortable, his proximity, and he was using it to his advantage. Clove could imagine the amusement on his brutish face, his pleasure as she squirmed and blushed.

She scooted over, putting some distance between them, and he chuckled, the sound raspy. "I never said you were handsome," she countered. "I said I wasn't complaining, not that I didn't have anything to complain about."

"Hair-splitting," Cato shrugged. "Not really a denial."

Clove let out an exasperated sigh, but before she could dig herself deeper, she heard the elevator open. She lifted her head to see Enobaria, Brutus, Lucretia, and the stylists return with no small amount of relief.

They occupied the couches around them, expressions ranging from thrilled to calculating. Enobaria was the latter as she cleared her throat. "First things first: excellent job, both of you. Clove, nice balance of sweet and arrogant. Cato, you definitely drew attention from sponsors. I've received offers for the both of you based solely on interviews." Her eyes hardened. "Of course, you had no control over what the other tributes did, so I can't blame you for Twelve's publicity stunt. But it's still quite important that you nip their star-crossed lovers act in the bud."

"Kill the girl first," Brutus added. "She's more dangerous than he is, with that score and that ferocity. If you can somehow recruit the boy, that might not be a bad idea. You can overpower him if need be, but he'll probably lead you right to her."

Clove evaluated the intelligence of that decision for a moment. He was strong, that much she knew. He could definitely take one of them out before they realized. They'd have to rely on his moral high ground, and if there was one thing Clove had no faith in, it was ethics. But Brutus was still one of her mentors, and if he gave her such explicit advice, she'd do well to take it if she wanted any sponsor gifts at all.

"We can discuss more over dinner," Enobaria said, flicking her eyes at the stylists in a manner Clove recognized. She didn't trust them, and Clove didn't, either.

After dinner, they moved to the sitting room to watch the replay of the interviews. Clove unabashedly sneered at Glimmer and curled her lip at Marvel's awkward attempts at humor. Then she saw an orange-clad figure take the stage. "I could've sworn I stumbled up those steps," she muttered to herself as she watched herself glide across the floor and gracefully extend a hand to Caesar.

She was oddly detached as she watched the other Clove smile sweetly, giggle, _charm._ It felt more like she was watching through someone else's eyes, objectively noting the ice beneath her grin, the pride shielded by modesty when she spoke about her talents, the coy way she deflected the uncomfortable question about Cato.

She was a Career through and through on the screen. Her sweetest smile couldn't hide the ferocity, the bloodlust beneath. But that was tantalizing to the Capitol, she thought, being able to see the lines of her mask but not knowing just what it hid. They liked surprises even more when they knew there'd be one.

Clove relaxed against the couch as Cato took the stage. She watched again as he was colder, more vicious than she'd remembered. "So did you have to memorize those obvious villain lines or did you come up with them yourself?" she drawled, turning over to look at the real Cato.

"A bit of both, actually," he responded, not nearly as hostile as she'd expected. "They fit with my angle. It was more difficult to choose the proper time for them than to actually remember them. So many opportunities, so little time."

She stared at him in disbelief for a moment before snorting. "Sure, Ludwig." Clove turned back to the screen for the rest of the interviews.

When they'd finished and the screen went black, Clove looked over at the mentors. This was the second-to-last time she'd be able to see them, perhaps forever. She shivered at the thought but rose with everyone else.

Lucretia bobbled over to them, tears glistening in her eyes. "It was a pleasure to work with you," she bubbled, the words tumbling out of her mouth far too quickly. "Good luck to you both. I'll ask my friends- see if any of them might sponsor you." She wrapped them in a hug that Clove stood too stiffly to return, that Cato practically ignored. Then she hurried out without waiting for the mentors.

"That's rare," Enobaria commented softly. "She's never solicited donations from her friends before. You two must've impressed her." She stopped, and there was silence.

"Any last-minute advice?" Cato asked after a while.

"Keep all the supplies close," Brutus told them. "You'll want to have as much food on you as possible, just in case. Keep enough water for a few days and some dense food along with your weapons."

"Work with your allies for as long as is needed," Enobaria added. "The audience expects you to split up at some point, counts on it, probably. And since none of them are particularly capable, you can do so sooner rather than later. Clove, you don't have to play your angle any more. Go be vicious, be victorious, both of you. Brutus and I will handle the sponsors and your reputations."

Clove shook hands with them both, almost saddened. Sure, Brutus disgusted her, but he was home. Enobaria, terrifying as she was, was home. Her eyes found Cato as he brushed past her to clap Brutus on the back. He was home, too.

* * *

Enobaria woke her in the morning and took her up to the roof, where a hovercraft waited. Cato was already inside, about as far away from her as could be managed. Clove sneered when they placed the perpetually-late girl from Twelve right next to her, but docilely stuck out her arm for the tracker. The hovercraft began to move, the lights darkening. She glanced up, around at the nervous tributes, and smiled.

Two Peacekeepers escorted her to her Launch Room, where Bac was waiting for her. He slipped a dark rust jacket over her outfit. "Almost time, Clove," he warned her just before an electronic voice did.

She smiled back at him, the expression cold. "I'll see you soon. I expect more dresses like that one." He nodded back silently. They shook hands, and then she stepped into the launch tube.

Clove blinked beneath the sudden sunlight, willing her eyes to adjust. A clearing, angular Cornucopia in the center, forests around. She shifted from foot to foot and glanced at Cato, already leaning forward, at Glimmer, practically hopping with excitement, at Marvel beside her. She focused back on her target, and then the gong sounded.

She was off her platform immediately, sprinting towards the piles of weapons, the sleek, beautiful knives she knew it had to hold. She surpassed the other tributes to open a pack, filled with a vest and knives as the bloodbath surged around her. Cato was beating up the kid he'd threatened in the Training Center, Marvel slashed at another tribute, nameless people shrieked and snarled and swore.

She took one of her knives and flung it at a boy who was grappling with someone for a backpack. He toppled, revealing an open-mouthed Firegirl. Her face contorted into a snarl as she threw another knife that lodged into the girl's backpack as she hoisted it up to cover her face. But the other girl was running, sprinting, really, and Clove had no desire to chase her down, not when there were so many other tributes to hunt.

They played at the Cornucopia for a while longer, killing the boy from Four who'd apparently decided he no longer wanted to be in their alliance. Marina was long-gone, vanished into the woods with some supplies.

"They betrayed us," Clove remarked, glancing around at the carnage indifferently. "Why did I even pretend to be friendly to them? Was there even a point?" She was seated cross-legged on the ground, cleaning her knives with her jacket as Cato twirled a gleaming sword around, Glimmer picked up a bow and fired some test shots.

Cato snorted. "I'm not surprised. They were weak, both of them. They knew we would turn on them soon enough."

Clove pushed herself to her feet and began to toss the backpacks in a pile, skirting around the bodies. "Root through those, see if there's anything worth taking on the hunt," she told Marvel. "If there's any knives, I'll take them." He looked up from a tribute's dying breaths, saw the ice on her face, and nodded.

By the time they were back on the hunt, she had lined her jacket with gleaming beauties, delicate blades for carving and daggers for efficiency. She wore a backpack, having taken Brutus' advice, and stuffed it with bottles of water and food that wouldn't spoil quickly.

Glimmer made a snide comment about carrying more than one weighed, and Clove turned around to face the blonde. "Some of us are strong enough to pull our own weight. Some of us aren't. Which are you, Glimmer?" she asked, toying with her favorite blade, a nasty thing with a cruel, thin tip, perfect for her kind of decorative art.

Glimmer blanched and muttered something under her breath as Cato laughed. "Sweet little Clove isn't quite so sweet any more," he warned her. "I'd watch out, if I were you."

It was then, as Glimmer bristled and made as if to retort, that someone darted across their path. Clove burst into a run instinctively, attracted to the fearful movement. A glance to her side showed that Cato had reacted the same way.

They cornered whoever it was, and the tribute turned around to reveal Loverboy, face pale with fear and gripping a knife. Clove scowled at the sight of one of her precious weapons in his inferior grasp.

"What are we going to do with him, Cato?" Glimmer asked breathlessly as she caught up. "Kill him quickly or slowly?"

Cato didn't look at her, looked instead at Clove, and she knew he was remembering Brutus' instructions. "No, I think he'll be helpful to us. Isn't that right?" he asked the boy.

He nodded, shakily at first and then with confidence. He might not have known why he was being spared, but he leaped at the lifeline. "I'm strong and I can use a knife. I'd be a good member of your alliance."

Glimmer pouted at being overruled, but Clove found she didn't really care. "The thing is, Loverboy," she began idly, "we have strong." She nodded at Cato, who smirked. "We have good at knives." She gestured at herself. "We already have an alliance. What we don't have is a use for you."

"I- I can-" the boy stammered, eyes tracking Clove's hand as it rested on the handle of her favorite knife, as her fingers closed around it. "I can lead you to her!" he burst out.

Clove paused, a chilling smile sweeping her features. "Oh, can you? And how would you do that?"

"She- she told me what her plan was going to be. In the arena. I know where she'll go, what she'll do," Loverboy rushed. "Let me join you and I promise you'll find her."

Clove grinned up at Cato. "Well, with such a tempting offer, how could we refuse?" she purred. "Just make sure that we do find her. I'm sure she'd hate to find your face in the sky, since you two are just _so in love._ " She leaned in close to him, relishing the fear that rose from him unbidden before drawing back. "Welcome to the alliance, Loverboy."


	13. Chapter 13

It was dark when they found their first real prey outside of the Cornucopia, an idiotic girl who'd lit a fire in the middle of the blank night. Cato stabbed her even as she pleaded.

Marina was already dead, killed hours ago when they'd found her. Cato'd stepped back and let Clove play with her as Marvel restrained her. Marina'd been much less quiet than before as Clove had carved "traitor" deep across her face, screams echoing throughout the forest.

"Thirteen down and ten to go!" Clove cried now, raising one knife above her head in victory. The others cheered. Behind her, Glimmer was doing an impression of the girl's high-pitched begging as Marvel laughed.

"Come on, Loverboy," Cato called behind them. "Are you sure she went this way?" Loverboy stumbled out of the bushes and nodded insistently.

"Why can't we just kill him now and be done with it?" Glimmer hissed to Marvel, just quietly enough Loverboy probably wouldn't hear it. Still, it just went to show her intelligence.

"He's our best chance of finding her, I guess," Marvel responded with a shrug. He'd accepted early on that Cato made the decisions and that Clove was the only one he'd actually listen to. Glimmer was still persistent, alternating between needling Cato and trying to seduce him. Both actions made Clove veer between amusement and disgust.

"Shouldn't we have heard a cannon by now?" Glimmer asked eventually.

"I'd say yes. Nothing to prevent them from going in immediately," Marvel answered, glancing back at the smoldering remains of the fire.

"Unless she isn't dead." Clove smirked at Cato as he turned puce.

"She's dead. I stuck her myself," he growled, looming over her as if she'd change her mind when threatened. She laughed at his bluster and lightly stepped away, brushing past him to pick up a knife that had slipped from her belt.

"Then where's the cannon?" Glimmer questioned, still oblivious.

"Someone should go back. Make sure the job's done," Marvel insisted.

"Yeah, we don't want to have to track her down twice," Clove added, grinning at the way Cato's hands clenched at his sides.

"I said she's dead!" he finally snapped.

They argued for a while about the girl whose cannon hadn't fired before Loverboy finally agreed to go back and kill her. Clove leaned against a tree, a smug grin on her face when the cannon fired minutes later. "Guess you were wrong, Ludwig," she laughed. "You had one job!" He shoved her and she stumbled to the side but regained her footing, still grinning.

* * *

The next day, they kept hunting, but the other tributes were too well-concealed. It was late afternoon by the time they found a stream and Firegirl, who'd ironically been burned. Still, she managed to evade their clutches and shimmy up a tree as they sprinted after her, calling dibs and laughing.

Cato threw aside his pack, keeping his sword, and began to scale the tree as they cheered him on. But he was too heavy, dropping down moments later.

"Kill her, Cato! Just kill her, Cato!" she cried, her voice rising up above the others. He began to climb again, but this time a branch snapped beneath him and he fell on his back.

Glimmer pulled out her bow and fired an arrow that missed laughably. "I thought that was your talent, Glimmer?" Clove asked loudly.

Cato snatched it from her and fired, but he was even worse, and Clove remembered just how awful the two of them had done in archery back in Two. "Why don't you just throw the sword?" Firegirl jeered, and Clove couldn't help but agree.

"Let's just wait her out," Loverboy suggested. They turned as a group to stare at him, incredulous. "She's got to come down at some point, that or starve to death. We'll just kill her then."

Cato glanced at Clove, and she wrinkled her nose but nodded minutely. Clearly they couldn't climb the tree, and Clove's knives couldn't slip through all the branches to stab the pest. "Okay," he finally said. "Someone start a fire."

Clove played with her knives in the firelight hours later, flicking them at a lizard a few feet away as Cato heated his sword in the fire and Glimmer giggled and made suggestive comments. "Glimmer, you're on guard tonight," she told the other girl.

Glimmer looked over at Clove just as she sent another knife into the lizard's corpse. She glanced back at Cato, but it was clear Cato wasn't about to refute Clove. She pouted but leaned up against the tree, and Clove fell asleep, knife in hand.

* * *

Clove awoke to mayhem. Insects were everywhere, swarming them, stabbing them like so many tiny knives. She seized her pack and took to her heels, followed quickly by Cato. Glimmer tripped and sprawled on the forest floor, screeching, but not even Marvel returned for her. She didn't know where she was going or if she was even going anywhere at all, just that she had to outpace the wasps.

She ran as fast as she could, hearing Cato's wheezes a few feet behind her until they'd escaped the swarms. She turned around. Cato was there, Marvel was there. Loverboy was not. "He's gone back to her," she hissed, and watched as Cato's eyes turned cold.

That time, he led the way as they raced back the way they'd come, the wasps mysteriously vanished. She caught a glimpse of Glimmer's bloated body and smirked. _Not so beautiful now, are you?_ But she was getting woozy from the stings, swaying as she ran, and she saw Cato falter before her, shaking his head to clear it.

Then Loverboy was there, flickering before her and screaming into the distance, and Cato raised his sword and slashed a deep cut on his leg, releasing a swarm of black ants. But that was all he could manage. Cato slumped to the ground even as Loverboy started to run, limping away into fire as Clove's sight went black.

* * *

Clove awoke in a flush of sweat and tremors. For a minute, she could do nothing but gasp for breath, blinded by the darkness. There were moments when she remembered the dreams she'd had, and she shuddered. But they were gone now, the hallucinations cleared from her sight.

She was warm, unnaturally warm. Agonizingly slowly, muscles protesting the movement, she turned her head to the side to find she was pressed against another person. _Cato._ He was lying on his stomach, head turned towards her, and she was curled against his side. Hazily, she recalled dragging herself over to his prone figure before she'd collapsed. She couldn't remember why.

She heard a groan and, with more strength, rolled over to see Marvel a few yards away. His face was contorted in a grimace, and even as she watched, his eyes slowly opened. "That was… a doozy," he huffed.

"Understatement," Clove replied, the syllables thick on her tongue. "Did he… get away?"

"Think so," Marvel answered slowly. "Last I saw, before…" One hand at his side waved weakly at their semiconscious forms. "Is Cato…"

She could feel his breath warm on the back of her neck, even though it hadn't changed. "He's fine," she murmured. "We need to… get up and… start hunting…"

But before either of them could admit weakness, the anthem boomed in her ears. She tilted her head slightly to watch the sky as the seal appeared, then faces. Glimmer's simper lit up the sky for a few seconds, then it vanished and darkness took its place. They'd been out the entire day, but no one else had died.

Clove felt rather than heard Cato's breathing change, escaping the slow, steady rhythm it had held. She turned over to see his eyes flicker open, a burning blue, saw his pupils dilate to adjust to the lack of light. "Well, hello there," he whispered, a ghost of a smirk tracing his face.

"You recovered fast," she replied, too leaden to respond to his jabs.

"You two gossips… woke me up," he answered, his eyes shutting briefly before opening again. "Was that the anthem?"

"Glimmer's dead," Marvel responded. "She's the only one today." His voice was already steadier, stronger than earlier.

Clove eased an arm back beside her and slowly propped herself up on her side, still too weak to distance herself from Cato. "Where's my pack?" she asked. "I'm starved."

She heard a skidding sound and turned to the side to see her pack slide across the ground from Marvel's direction. With her free arm, she snagged it and pulled it open to reveal several water bottles and a small trove of food. Her mouth was suddenly dry, so she drained half of one of the bottles before tossing the remainder to Marvel. She handed Cato another bottle and tore open one of the packs of dried meat with her teeth.

Cato snatched the pack from her, rooted through it, and took out some food for himself before throwing it back to Marvel. "We need to get moving," he mumbled around a mouthful. "It isn't safe."

"No one's found us this far," Clove argued. "And if they do, we still have our weapons."

"We're just going to sleep out here?" Marvel asked.

"Yes, we can go to the Cornucopia tomorrow and get our supplies back. I think hunting is over for now." Clove was more awake than before, her mind buzzing. Who was left? Their group, the redhead, the cripple from Ten, both from Eleven and Twelve. She didn't think any of them would be found easily. But there was someone whose face slipped her mind, who she couldn't recall. "We need to get these stingers out," she added. She heard their murmurs of assent and began to pull out the stingers from her body.

They were everywhere. Most had gotten caught somewhere between her jacket and her skin, and she was grateful for it, its layers of down that had likely kept her alive. She gingerly pried them off her clothes and flicked them away, listening to Marvel and Cato curse quietly. She had half a mind to run her knives through the venom for extra potency, but decided against it. She didn't want to fall afoul of her own weapon, after all.

The ones in Clove's skin were a little trickier. She pinched them at the base and pried them out, stifling gasps at the sharp pain. "Did I miss any?" she asked Cato after a few moments.

His eyes slid over her skin. "You're good," he finally said. "What about me?"

She reached out and plucked one from beneath his eye. He winced. "All better," she told him with a cruel little grin. "You okay over there, Marvel?" A string of curses answered her, and she laughed, the sound loud and sharp in the empty clearing. "Keep it down. I'm going back to sleep."

"Right here?" Cato asked, grinning cockily, clearly expecting her to shudder and pull away.

"Unless you have a problem with that," she countered instead, relishing the confusion that appeared on his face for a split second before he smirked and stuck out an arm, calling her bluff. But she wasn't about to let him win. Clove lowered herself back down until her head rested on the meat of his arm.

"You're not a bad pillow," she commented thoughtfully. "You're nice and squishy." She was growing tired again, her eyelids lowering after the ordeals. She managed to stay awake just long enough to hear Cato's aggrieved sigh, then she was gone.


	14. Chapter 14

They left early the following morning, before dawn had even broken. Marvel had volunteered to be rear guard, so she and Cato walked side by side through the forest. Her pack was significantly lighter after sharing the water, so light she worried they'd run out and dehydrate to death. But she reassured herself silently, remembering that they owned the lake and that the other tributes were far more afraid of her than she was of them.

"Thinking, Clove?" Cato's voice jarred her out of her thoughts.

"Yes, actually. The science behind it is a little sketchy, but I'd still recommend it to you," she retorted. She let a few minutes pass in silence. "So how do we know no one else has taken over the Cornucopia while we were hunting?"

Cato's answering grin sent shivers down her spine. "If they are, they won't last long," he muttered grimly. She licked her lips at the thought. It'd been a full day since someone had died last, and that wasn't even Clove's handiwork. She was getting antsy with the need to hunt.

They broke into a light jog once they sighted the edge of the forest. She preferred the open expanse of meadow before her to the towering, shadow-casting trees. In the middle of the plains, she could spot foes instantly before they could reach her. Her knives were less encumbered in the open, anyway.

They reached the Cornucopia with no fuss, but there was something _wrong_ about the way the supplies were arranged. They were piled far to the side, stacked up in a pyramid of weapons and foods and utterly unguarded. Clove kept a wide berth of it, suspicious of how tempting it was, and they ran to the Cornucopia.

There were two people there: the boy with the lame leg and the one she hadn't remembered the day before, a scrawny, ashen-skinned boy she recalled was from Three. The former glanced up sharply as their pack closed in, scrambling to his feet, but he was far too late. Cato hoisted him easily into the air as Marvel cornered the other boy, who cowered against the angular walls of the Cornucopia.

"That's an interesting trap you've set out there," Clove said, her voice cold. "What would happen if we went near it?" She walked over to the crippled boy, licked her lips as he cringed away from her. Cato shook him roughly, and he cried out.

"I didn't- didn't set it up- he did- he knows-" the boy babbled, hands dangling uselessly at his sides. "Please don't- don't kill me-"

Clove turned to the other boy then, a slow smile spreading across her face. "Your ally just sold you out. Yes, I don't think we'll have much use for a traitor like him. You won't mind his death, will you? Not when you could have much better allies," she nearly purred.

"Allies?" the boy from Three asked, pale. "You want to be allies… with me?" He was incredulous, suspicious, and Clove didn't blame him.

She shrugged offhandedly. "Well, someone rigged those supplies to explode if anyone approaches them wrong, and I don't think it was your crippled little partner over there. What we're proposing is a trade." Clove glanced at Cato, saw him smirk in affirmation. "We'll protect you from the other tributes, keep you safe and comfortable."

"What do you want me to do?" The boy was breathing easier now, but his eyes were still distrusting.

"Oh, nothing much," Clove told him with another careless shrug. "Show us how to access the supplies, guard the camp when we go hunting. We'll even let you have a weapon." She watched him carefully, the realization that she was serious dawn upon his face. "Of course, we only have need of you. Your ally will have to go. Will you agree to that?"

The boy seized upon the lifeline, not knowing that he was being pulled from the rough seas into a whirlpool. _Poor, stupid boy,_ she thought. "Yes!" he exclaimed. "I'll do it! I can show you the path to the supplies- I'll even walk through it myself, so you know I'm not feeding you false information."

Clove smiled, a grin so cruel he froze in his babbling. "Good. Cato?" Her brutish partner smirked, drawing his sword even as he let the boy from Ten down. Cato stabbed through the boy's chest with the sword, the cannon firing almost immediately. "Welcome to the team, Three."

Marvel stepped away from Three, letting the boy scramble to his feet. "How about you show us the path to the supplies now?" he suggested. His voice was polite, almost nice, and she grinned as Three gravitated towards the small measure of kindness. He surely knew he wasn't going to receive it from Clove or Cato, after watching their manipulation and thoughtless murder, but little did he know he wouldn't get compassion from Marvel, either.

* * *

The next day, they all sat beneath some tarps strung up for protection from the sun. Clove sat cross-legged on a blanket, a clean cloth by her side, sharpening her blades and wiping them clean. Cato did the same with his sword a few feet away, occasionally snatching the whetstone from her. Marvel was toying with one of his spears when he glanced up sharply.

"Here, here, guys, look!" He leaped to his feet and moved up, away from the tarps. "C'mon, c'mon, here, look!" Clove and Cato rose and looked in the direction he indicated. Smoke was curling in lazy spirals a fairly short distance away. Someone'd been dumb enough to light a fire in broad daylight.

"Let's go," Cato ordered. "You- stay and guard until we get back." This was said to Three, who clutched one of the spears Marvel had reluctantly given over. The boy nodded shakily, and together they burst into a run.

Clove skidded to a stop as they reached the source of the smoke, a fire heaped high with wood and no one in sight. There was no evidence anyone had done more than light the fire.

"What is this?" Marvel asked, prodding a charred piece of wood with a foot.

"A trick," Clove realized, just before something exploded.

She immediately dropped to the ground, hands flying to shield her face. A few seconds passed, and she didn't feel obliterated, so she lowered her hands and stood. Cato and Marvel stared down at her, fighting off grins. "Don't bring it up," she snarled. "Let's go see what just happened."

They sprinted back to the Cornucopia, Clove's knife in hand as she took in the utter wreckage of their supplies. She was glad in a distant way she'd had the foresight to fill her pack with as much food as she could.

"I don't know what happened!" Three bleated from where he stood amidst the blackened rubble of what had been life-sustaining food and weapons just minutes ago.

"What the hell did you do?" Cato snapped, lunging towards the boy. He was furious, unhinged, half a step from tearing his own hair out. Clove instinctively backed away. "You blew up our stuff!" The boy protested, pleaded as Cato jerked his neck sharply to the side.

He was almost demented as he whirled around to face Clove and Marvel, kicking some of the wreckage aside furiously.

"Ludwig," Clove snapped as he started towards them, fury rolling off his shoulders, hands tensing like they wanted to snap her neck, too. "Ludwig!" She pulled out a knife, braced herself. "Cato!"

He froze, face contorted in hatred and rage. "Calm down!" she barked. "We didn't do this! Why the hell would we try to sabotage ourselves?"

"She's right," Marvel added. "Whoever did this is still out there, and we need to go hunting for them. We should split up and cover the fires- someone has to be lighting them to distract us." It was sound logic, and slowly, incrementally, Cato began to relax. Clove let her knife return to her jacket, pretending like her hand wasn't shaking.

Cato nodded sharply. "Okay, yeah. You go over to the second fire. Clove and I will check around the first one." Marvel seemed too relieved to not be paired with insane Cato, and Clove couldn't blame him. "You ready, pet?"

Clove looked up at him, grinning despite herself. "To kill? Always."

"Good. We'll leave now. Happy hunting, Marvel." Cato stuck out a hand, and Clove was momentarily surprised at the finality of the gesture. _Of course. We've been allies for a while. The audience expects us to break with him._

Marvel shook Cato's hand, nodded at Clove. She remembered the first time they'd met, when he'd bowed over her hand and she'd wanted to kill him. "Happy hunting," she echoed. She almost meant it.

* * *

Hours later, they heard one cannon followed a minute later by another. She turned to look at Cato. "There were two of them?" she asked, carefully judging his response.

He nodded curtly. "And if we're lucky, Marvel killed them both."

She knew the improbability of that statement, shook her head once. They kept jogging through the forest until a voice startled them.

"Attention, tributes, attention." Prissy voice, almost condescending. Claudius Templesmith. "The regulations requiring a _single_ tribute have been suspended. From now on, _two_ Victors may be crowned if both originate from the same District. This will be the only announcement."

Clove turned sharply to look at Cato, skidding to a stop. "Did they just-" Her voice was almost breathy, weak with uncertainty.

"We can both go home." Cato seemed just as unsure, shocked as she was. "We can both go home," he repeated, something lighting in his eyes she hadn't seen before.

"Home." She savored the word, tasted it on her tongue. Clove and Cato returning to their District in splendor, powerful above all, envied for their combined strength. The idea hadn't ever occurred to her, but now that it was there, she found she couldn't dislodge it. And that frightened her, the way hope had worked its way into her heart so easily.

Emotion was finding its way into her eyes as well. It was dusk and her eyes were dark, but her skin was pale enough to reveal the way tears glistened, clung to her lashes. She made an exasperated sound and turned her face away, but Cato grabbed her shoulders and pulled her close. She was strangely grateful for his height then, that she could bury her face in his chest while she regained control over herself. His arms closed around her back, pulling her flush against him even as she focused on steadying her heartbeat.

After a long moment, Cato loosened his hold on her, and she lingered for just an instant before pulling away. "I think Enobaria would just love to have us both back, don't you?" He smirked, and she could practically hear the laughter in the Capitol at the expense of their prickly mentor.

Clove smiled, a rare, genuine one. "Then we'd better hunt everyone else first."

They saw Marvel's face in the sky that night. Clove watched stonily as he vanished, as if he'd never been part of the Games in the first place. Then there were the boys from Three and Ten, followed by the tiny little girl from Eleven. Her name was Rue, she recalled. Sorrow and remorse, a name too heavy for the girl's narrow shoulders to bear.

"Attention, tributes, attention." Clove jerked up, out of her half-slumbering walk. It was Claudius again, with another message. "Commencing at sunrise, there will be a feast tomorrow at the Cornucopia. This will be no ordinary occasion. Each of you needs something desperately. And we plan to be… _generous_ hosts."

"What do we desperately need?" she asked Cato, voice quiet in the silence.

"I guess we'll find out," he answered. His sword glinted in the moonlight and she shuddered, half-fearful, half-eager. "But what we really need to do is kill as many of the others as we can, and this sounds like the perfect opportunity."

"What's the plan?"

He told her. Cato spoke of blood and vengeance and gritty victory beneath the silvery moonlight, and she was lost.


	15. Chapter 15

The sun rose over the Cornucopia, all harsh metallic lines and boxy angles. There was a table in front of it, a simple, sleek design topped with four numbered backpacks. This was it: their feast.

"I want to kill the girl," she'd told him the night before, fiddling with one of her knives. "I almost got her once already; I need to get it done this time." _I hate her,_ she'd thought, _hate everything she represents. She is protection and family and rebellion and everything I'm not, and so she has to die._

He'd frowned, furrowed his brow. "I want to do it. She made a fool of me, humiliated me so many times over. I want to watch the light fade in her eyes."

"You can still watch her die, just let me have my fun," she argued. "I'll make her bleed, cry, _beg_. And won't that be fun? To see the realization dawn on her face that she's dead, that she will suffer for so long before she dies?" He'd looked unconvinced, eyes narrow, and she'd added, "I'll put on a good show for the Capitol. They'll talk about her death for years to come, how I carved designs in her skin, how we killed her together."

 _What about our deaths,_ she should have asked. _What will we do when one of us is dead and the other is triumphant? What will we do when we are both dead? What will we do when we are the last ones standing?_ She should have asked, but she didn't.

Clove and Cato were spaced on opposite ends of the woods, shielded by shadows and tree limbs. She watched as Firegirl burst from the trees halfway between the both of them, only to stumble to a stop. She'd given up her position, and now she wasn't even going to go for her backpack? This was no challenge at all.

A flicker of movement caught her eye- the sneaky redhead darted from the Cornucopia, snatched up her backpack, and sprinted out as quickly as she could. Clove almost itched to chase her down, but decided reluctantly against it. Her true competition was right here, after all.

Firegirl started running again, nearly missing the backpack in her panic, and as she ran along the side of the Cornucopia, Clove rushed out and threw a knife. It was a good throw, leaving a gash in the other girl's forehead, but it wasn't enough.

Firegirl fell backwards but rolled to her feet far quicker than Clove had expected, launching an arrow that she just barely ducked. Then she was too close to shoot at, and she let her momentum force the other girl down.

Clove felt her sight sharpen, narrow, the edges hazy. _Tunnel vision._ She'd only had it a few times before, in the middle of particularly intense fights. She'd won them all. The only thing she could see was the fear on the other girl's face. It was restrictive, freeing. Nothing would distract her now.

Firegirl flipped her over, but Clove countered it by continuing the roll until she was back on top. They scrabbled at one another in the grass until Firegirl managed to toss her off. She was halfway up when Clove leaped on her again. This time, her hold didn't get broken. She planted her knees on Firegirl's chest and stabbed at her face with a huge knife.

Firegirl dodged most of the blows, grunting when one slash tore across her chin. But as Clove tried to slit her throat, she stuck a hand on Clove's forehead and shoved backwards. Clove recovered faster, rolling them both over once before her feet found purchase on Firegirl's wrists. She flailed furiously as Clove held the blade to her throat, pressed until blood beaded. Then she was still, gasping for breath.

"Where's Loverboy?" Clove purred. Her voice was as high as a child's, but she didn't think a child had ever sounded so _cold_. It was almost sweet, the way she spoke, the way the syllables lilted off her tongue. Oh, Enobaria would have been so proud to see her then, she thought. "Oh, I see. You were going to help him, right? Well, that's _sweet._ " She pouted down at her captive, but the corners of her mouth curled up. "You know, it's too bad you couldn't help your little friend. What was her name… _Rue?_ "

Firegirl thrashed furiously beneath her. Words were too far gone for her. The best she could manage was a snarling scream that came from the back of her throat like some sort of animal, abruptly cut off in a squeal as Clove pressed the knife in even closer.

"But we killed her," Clove nearly whispered, the words sweet and cold and oh-so-cruel. "And now, we're going to kill you." She took out a beautiful, cruel blade, narrow and small, perfect for artistry. She tilted her head, trying to decide where to start the patterns, lowered it almost reverently to Firegirl's skin, just nicking her flesh when she was suddenly tossed aside.

She landed against the side of the Cornucopia with a metallic clang, but she didn't fall. The boy from Eleven, a foot taller than her and twice her size, gripped her jacket with both hands and held her against the wall.

"You killed her?" he shouted. Clove'd never heard him speak, other than his one-word answers during his interview. His voice was as harsh as his eyes and his eyes- oh, they were hatred and rage and brute strength.

"No!" she gasped, her voice frantic. She shook her head, pulled her head away from this predator who had her trapped. _It was Marvel!_ she screamed, but the words never left her mouth. _Marvel killed your friend!_

"I heard you!" He lunged towards her, and she flinched away, but there was nowhere for her to turn.

"Cato!" Desperate, a child's shriek. "Cato!" And she knew even as she screamed that he wouldn't make it in time, that their little strategy had backfired so spectacularly. She had been too cocky, too arrogant as she teased Firegirl, and now she was going to die. The thought was calming, somehow. _Now Cato won't have to kill me._

"You said her name! You said her name!" Eleven yanked her forward only to smash her into the side of the Cornucopia. Her head pounded, and she knew something was _wrongnotrightithurtspleaseCatoplease_ as he drew her towards him again. Just as he was about to slam her back again, to kill her, she heard something roar.

 _A mutt,_ she thought hazily, her vision growing cloudy as Eleven stopped, turned to look over his shoulder as Cato punched him so hard he fell over. _No, no beast. Just Cato. But then again, they're one and the same._

Clove heard two pairs of footsteps and knew they belonged to Firegirl and Eleven, scrambling away before Cato could hunt them down. But he didn't chase after them, didn't send the spear he held flying towards one of their exposed backs. She crumpled to the ground, folding in on herself like a piece of paper, fragile, about to splinter into a thousand sparkling pieces.

Clove was glad Cato was there to pull her into his lap, to hold her as she shuddered. "Stay with me, Clove." He was begging. Cato never begged. Was she dreaming already? There were stars in the corner of her vision, but it wasn't nighttime yet. But she was tired, so very tired. Maybe she should sleep. Sleeping was good. Sleeping was easy and painless and comforting.

"Don't leave me, Clove. I can't-" He swore. "I can't do this alone, you hear me! I need you!" Something wet fell on her face, but it wasn't raining. Maybe it was and she just had never noticed. But that wasn't true. Cato didn't need her. Cato didn't need anyone. He never had.

She opened her eyes then. (when had they closed?) He was handsome, so very handsome. How had she never realized before? He was beautiful, gleaming golden beneath the sunlight with burning eyes. No wonder Glimmer had pined over him, had followed him around until Clove had thought she might scream. No wonder he hadn't done more than glance at Clove. Beauty like that was icy, deadly. It didn't have space for anything softer.

She couldn't control her body as it began to tremble, to quake in his hands. One calloused hand held her chin, absurdly gentle, tilting it up to look at him, to see the pain in his eyes. He was speaking again, but she couldn't hear him.

Clove remembered then all the times they'd fought, all the words they'd spat at one another from behind their weapons, all the feral grins they'd shared above the corpses they'd felled. _I have never loved someone as much as I do you, Cato. I know your heartbeat, your temper, your thoughts like I do my own. You are everything-_ everything- _to me._

She tried to talk, to push her thoughts into words, but all that escaped her mouth was a sigh. It was fading, the pain, disappearing like dewdrops in the sun. That should have scared her, but it didn't. She couldn't even remember what it felt like to be afraid.

Cato was clinging to her hand so tightly it must have hurt, but she only felt a slight pressure, no pain. She didn't feel anything any more. She was as numb, as icy as she'd always tried to be. Untouchable, undefeatable. A Victor.

Her eyes closed, and this time, they didn't open.


	16. Chapter 16

She drifted through a murky sea, faces floating before her and vanishing as she looked back at them. _Firegirl, Eleven, Cato…_ Was she dead? She didn't think dying would hurt that much. And it hurt- like thousands of her knives were stabbing her everywhere, paying special attention to her head. She'd thought heaven- or hell- would be painless.

Her body was heavy, full of sand instead of blood that scraped the insides of her veins as it was pushed through her. Sand was in her windpipe and in her lungs, making each breath heavy, painful. Not even hell could be so torturous. This punishment could only be inflicted in life.

Clove twitched, the motion sending waves of pain down her body, along with the tingling return of awareness that came when she moved after letting her body fall asleep. She moved again, more forcefully this time, and let out a moan as her head was enveloped in agony.

Something warm was pressed against her side, she noted, but whatever was draped across her head was cool. The warm thing shifted as she groaned again, the sound barely more than a gasp leaking from her lips.

Oh, she hurt like she was frozen, her nerves exploding and telling her she was burning, burning. But Clove was made of steel or bravado or some combination of the two, and so she forced her eyes open. The light scalded them, and she shut them to near-slits, allowing just the tiniest fraction of light to enter. She continued opening them until they were fully-open, dazzled by the starlight.

A whimper escaped her mouth, unbidden, as she tried to turn her head. She was instantly dizzy and so nauseous she swore she'd vomit all over herself. She breathed deeply and concentrated on the night sky as the warmth beside her moved.

"Clove?" The word was a whisper, a breath, thundering in her eardrums.

 _Cato_ , she thought. The ends of her fingers twitched, but she couldn't move, couldn't respond.

"I thought…" His words trailed off, wafting away in the chilly wind, and then the coolness vanished from her forehead to be replaced by a warm hand. It grazed her skin, cupped her chin, and she could see him, his face at the edge of her vision. Her eyes moved to his.

Cato murmured some prayer to a deity she'd never believed in, tracing patterns on her skin. His hands liked to strangle and snap, but right now, they were tender, soothing. Her eyelids flickered back down as she felt herself fading, not to the finality of before, but somewhere softer, the edge of consciousness. Clove let herself drift away.

* * *

When she woke next, the sun was unceasing even through her closed eyelids. She was alone, the warmth layered across her entire body as opposed to just one point. Being alone terrified her. She could barely move- how could she expect to survive an attack?

"Cato," she whispered. If he were here, he'd protect her. She knew that.

There was a rustling sound, and she tensed, a useless instinct in the face of her death. "Clove? You're awake?"

Her eyes flew open- too fast- and she hissed in pain and drew up a hand to shield them from the light. She heard footsteps, felt the displacement of air as he sat next to her, shadowing her face with his bulk. Clove opened her eyes tentatively and saw the harsh lines of his face, the worry and fatigue and rage that simmered there. "You're here," she breathed.

"Never left." He grinned down at her, a ghost of his earlier smirks. "How are you feeling?"

"Bad. What happened?" She could remember running and fighting and fear, but nothing connecting those to the pain that radiated through her body.

His hands clenched at his sides. "Thresh slammed you into the side of the Cornucopia. If he'd done it twice, you would have died."

 _Died._ She'd been so close to that, to lying on the ground with glassy eyes and a twisted neck. "The others?"

"Thresh and Firegirl fled as soon as they'd recovered. Someone died this morning, but I don't know who."

"Not Thresh." She felt her mouth curl into a faint smirk. "Needs to suffer."

Cato laughed, the sound startlingly sharp. "There's my Clove. I was going to hunt him as soon as I found out you were okay."

"Go," she whispered. "Kill him for me. An apology."

"For being just fast enough to keep you alive? Yes, I do have to apologize for that," he said mockingly. "I don't want to just leave you here, though. It'll be safer if I hide you in the Cornucopia. If I carry you to the Cornucopia, will you promise not to kill me?"

Clove paused, pondered. "I suppose I could try," she conceded generously. "Put a knife close."

Cato shook his head incredulously even as he leaned down to cradle her in his arms. She'd never felt so fragile, so in need of protection. She leaned against his chest and listened to his heart beat. "How about some food and water instead?" he offered. "You haven't drank since yesterday morning. You must be dehydrated."

"Knife," she insisted as he began to carry her slowly out of the sunlight.

"Damn, save a girl's life and she just keeps asking for things," Cato muttered. They reached the Cornucopia and he took her to the very back, hidden behind piles of crates and boxes that the other tributes hadn't moved.

He laid her down on the ground and jogged back to their space on the open plains to retrieve the supplies they'd slept next to, her pack included. "Why?" she asked when he returned, her voice quiet. She'd regained enough strength to prop herself up on her elbows and stare up at him.

Cato grinned. "If anyone's going to kill you, Clove, they'll have to wait their turn. I called dibs the day we met."

She smiled at the threat, at the sign they were returning to normal. "Don't let Thresh kill you, then," Clove told him. "That dibs works both ways, you know."

"Always you, Clove," he said, and she tried not to think of all the meanings layered beneath his words. He leaned down, caressed the side of her face with a thumb, smirking when she leaned into his touch instead of recoiling.

"Happy hunting, Cato." His answering grin sent chills down her spine.

* * *

It was hours later, and Clove was restless. She'd recovered well enough from her head injury- Cato must've gotten some medicine from a sponsor to heal it quickly- and she quickly exhausted her store of knives by sinking them into a crate on the other side of the Cornucopia, collecting them, and repeating the process.

The anthem sounded, and she eagerly moved to the mouth of the Cornucopia, glancing up at the sky. She'd regained her ability to walk several hours after Cato had left, and she'd practiced maintaining her balance even when a cannon fired. She'd told herself it wouldn't be Cato, couldn't be Cato, but there was that sinking doubt in her chest.

The first face in the sky was the redhead from Five, and she felt her shoulders slump in relief. Cato hadn't died after all. Well, he had promised her he'd be back. She intended to hold him to that. The other face was Thresh, glaring down at the arena, and she shuddered. He'd nearly killed her, would have, if Cato hadn't stopped him. Now he was dead, and she was as safe as she was ever going to be.

Her ears picked up some sounds not too far away- screams and pants and howls. Someone- multiple someones- were running towards her. Clove gathered her knives and stood at the entrance, eyes straining for a view of something in the black of the night.

And then she saw, and she started running, too, racing around the side of the Cornucopia and starting to scale it. Her head pounded, more from the exertion than from anything else as she clung to the slick metal, dug her knives in and clambered her way up.

"Cato!" she shouted, her voice shrill and piercing. She saw the tallest figure look up and lock in on her, sprinting even faster towards the Cornucopia. Behind him limped two more- a girl and a boy, the lovebirds from Twelve. And behind them…

Massive, muscular, dark-furred and wild-eyed, some twenty creatures chased them across the plains. Oh, they were the stuff of nightmares, with claws as long as Clove's knives and probably just as sharp, fangs snarling from their muzzles with a savagery Enobaria had never attained. Clove ripped her gaze from them and kept climbing until she reached the highest point of the Cornucopia.

Cato reached her barely a minute later, hurling himself onto the metal and using his muscles to pull himself up. He wore something flesh-colored, shimmering against his skin, and even as he wheezed and spat, he handed her something with shaking hands.

It was a pack, their pack. Clove ripped it open to find a smaller version of his armor and quickly stuffed it over her head, pulling it down as far as it would reach before turning back to look at him.

"Can they climb it?" he choked out. But she didn't have time to respond, for Twelve's duo had already reached the base. Loverboy boosted Firegirl up, and she leaned down to pull him up even as a mutt's fangs closed around his leg.

Cato raced over as she extricated him from the snarling mutt and decked her, tossed the boy back. He fought them both as Clove cowered back, unable to launch a knife for fear it would find an unwanted target. He dangled Firegirl above the mutts, hands closed around her throat, and Clove screamed as Loverboy lunged for him.

And then Cato had the boy in a headlock with Firegirl's arrow aimed straight at him. "Go on. Shoot." He was grinning, blood leaking from his mouth. "And he goes down with me and you win. Or maybe not. Maybe Clove kills you first."

Before the words could register in the other girl's ears, Clove had knocked her over. The glint of her bow- _so that was how she scored her eleven_ \- vanished among the mutts, followed by a long screech. She heard the crunch of bone behind her and a cannon fire almost immediately, but she didn't turn around until the Girl on Fire was pinned beneath her.

"Need some help, Clove?" Cato asked, and she grinned over her shoulder.

"Please. Help me keep her down so I can play with her," Clove replied, moving aside from the shell-shocked girl and flicking out her favorite blade.

"As the lady wishes." Cato took her place, pinning down the girl even as she began to thrash and scream. "What a noble, dignified death," he snorted, casually knocking her head to the side so it clanged against the metal.

"What'd you do with the boy?" Clove asked, licking her lips as she hovered above Firegirl.

Cato shrugged, the movement rippling through his shoulders. "Fed him to the mutts. Once his neck was broken, of course." The girl shrieked beneath him, struggling even harder to be freed as Clove leaned down.

"Oh, you're grieving for him? How _sweet_ ," she purred. "Now, where to start?" She tilted the girl's face from side to side, deciding what to carve. "I think… I think we'll start with your mouth." Clove traced the outline of her lips with the tip of her blade, almost teasingly, as Cato laughed.

"Yes, I don't think you'll have much use for your lips anymore. Want to blow Loverboy one last kiss? He'll probably appreciate it, wherever he ended up. You two were so _madly_ in love, after all." Her voice was sweet, dry, cold all at once as she lowered the knife to the girl's lips.

Clove had promised Cato a good show.

The Gamemakers flooded the skies with fireworks to illuminate their scene, Cato holding down the girl as Clove traced flaming designs over her skin. Her blood could've been fire in the light, the armor of some twisted beast far more terrifying than the mutts because it actually was human. Firegirl laid moaning and trembling beneath them, flesh adorned with hair-thin slices, and Clove stepped back and let Cato take his turn.

His technique was more savage, more brutal than her refined talents. Several quick slices with his sword, and she was back to screaming again, losing her stoic façade among the blood.

Clove lapped at the edge of her knife, the salty metallic tang unlike any other as she watched, and all she could think was _we won we did it we can go home we will dazzle everyone we will be beloved_.

"You're monsters," the girl sobbed out, her voice raw from screaming until it was barely distinguishable from the growls of the mutts. "You both are. You and her- you're perfect for each other."

"We're not monsters," Clove spat. Hatred was arsenic and boiling water in her voice, so harsh the other girl flinched away from her, and she couldn't help but think maybe she was a monster after all, but it was far too late for her. "We're Victors." She seized Cato's sword with his hand still wrapped around it and plunged it into the girl's heart.

He grinned up at her. "Victors." The word was swallowed by the boom of a cannon, and Cato retrieved his sword and pushed the girl's body off the edge of the Cornucopia. "Even with a goddamn head injury, you still made it."

Clove smiled up at him. "I'm tough." She watched the mutts disappear in the distance, waited for the trumpets to sound. Surely it had never taken so long before? "Are we too close to the body? Should we move?"

Cato shrugged, already sliding off the edge. "Might as well. It can't hurt." She followed him, landing lightly on the ground as they jogged several hundred yards away.

"What's taking them so long?" she asked when they stopped. He opened his mouth, about to answer, when Claudius' voice boomed into the arena.

"Greetings to the final contestants of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games. The earlier revision has been revoked. Closer examination of the rule book has disclosed that only one winner may be allowed. Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor."


	17. Chapter 17

Clove was heavy, stunned, as the words sank in. _Stupid, stupid! The Capitol always lies. Everyone does._ She was filled with sand again, the coarse grains scraping at her flesh with every shuddering breath she took. Her eyes found Cato's, the resignation there, and she made her choice. She loved him, but she loved life more.

As her hand found the hilt of her knife, Cato was already in motion. He knocked her over onto the ground and landed heavily atop her, driving the breath from her lungs in a gasp. She was a scrappy fighter, far better than Firegirl had been in the same situation, but her best efforts drew only a muffled curse. He was too heavy and his lock on her too tight.

Clove wondered then how Thresh had died. Was it with a sword, by Cato's bare hands? Was it merciful or agonizing? What had he thought as his eyes went glassy? She didn't know, but she knew she would soon become intimately aware. "It's funny how you worked so hard to save me, and now you're trying to kill me. Why not just let me die?" she hissed, snarled, the words cutting through her lips even as she struggled not to cry. She couldn't- _wouldn't_ \- be weak now.

Cato recoiled at her words, and she lunged upwards against him, but his hands found her shoulders again and forced her back onto the ground. "For once in your life, would you listen to me?" His voice was harsh, furious, a low growl curling in her ears, and it was that, more than his words, that made her freeze. Even riled, he'd never spoken to her so roughly. _He's detaching from me,_ she thought. _Making me out to be just another tribute in the way of his victory so he can kill me and be done with it._

"Do you want me to beg, Cato? To plead for mercy or for death?" Clove hissed. "God, you're messed up." Her words were her knives, stabbing at him even as he had the upper hand. He slammed a hand over her mouth, smothering her vicious words.

"Do you actually believe I'd kill you?" He was hurt, pained as he breathed the words into her ear.

"Well, what am I supposed to think when you've got me trapped?" she snapped back. Was this how she'd die? Full of acidic bravado? Whenever she'd briefly imagined the possibility of her death, it was always in a fair fight, a noble one where she went down giving as good as she got. This? This was a farce. There was no honor in this.

Cato sighed, the sound hurting her more than his fingers clenched around her shoulders. Then, ever so slightly, he began to ease away, letting go of her shoulders as she watched him with shuttered eyes. "What are you doing?" she whispered, forgetting to be cold and furious. Was it all a trick? Was he waiting for her to try to escape and then snap her neck?

He didn't respond, just continued removing his weight until he was gone. Clove remained on the ground beside him, not trusting herself to move. She could stab at him with the knife in her jacket, but to what end? He'd be able to dodge before she even had a grip on the handle.

And, she realized with a sinking heart, she didn't want to kill him. She might have been able to do so moments earlier, but not now. Not now as he watched her with ice blue eyes, still tensed like she might attack him. "Why?" she asked, her voice very quiet.

Cato exhaled. "I love you, Clove. I can't kill you." Oh, he was vulnerable then, so open for her to hurt him with knives or words. But she let her dreams, the sweetness of victory, escape into the night air as she sighed.

"I love you, Cato, come what may. You and you always and you forever and you until the very stars explode." She realized she was still lying on the ground, pushed herself up until she sat facing him. "You know what I am, what kind of a monster I am. You know me, and still you stay." _Monster._ The word was foreign, vile, but it was true, and she embraced it, accepted every connotation of it.

"You couldn't make me leave if you tried." His eyes were too intense, blinding even in the dim light of dawn, and she lowered her own. Slowly, gently, his hand tilted her chin up until she had focused on him again, and that was when he kissed her.

It was sweet, chaste, tender, everything they weren't. But it was fitting somehow, that they'd changed so much in the end. _And this is the end,_ Clove thought as they slowly pulled apart, feeling something unfamiliar trickle down her cheek. _We can't both win, and we can't kill the other. The only path for us is death._

She opened her eyes, stared back at Cato, who'd reached the same conclusion as her. She could see the resignation on his face. "Victors together?" he asked quietly.

"In life and in death," she whispered. "The rest is silence."

They stood facing each other. Cato raised his sword, but Clove didn't tense, didn't feel anything at all beyond a soothing numbness as he pointed the blade towards himself. She took her own knife, the beautiful dagger that had traced so much flesh, and raised it to her own heart. "On three."

"One."

"Two."

"Three." It was too late to change her mind. Clove drew her dagger back and stabbed.

"Stop! Stop!" Claudius' frantic voice barely registered in her ears, but she stopped the knife before it could pierce her heart. _Another trick?_ "Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the Victors of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games, Clove Fuhrman and Cato Ludwig! I give you- the tributes of District Two!"

Her knife fell to the ground. Looking over, she saw Cato do the same, his chest unblemished. She shuddered with relief and sagged into his arms. "We made it," she murmured unbelievingly. Cato was praying again, thanking all the deities that had spared them, had saved them as the hovercraft appeared and two ladders dropped.

Clove ignored the one intended for her, instead clung to the same ladder Cato chose, and the electric current froze them as they were carried up to the waiting hovercraft. The doctors in sterile white tried to separate them into different rooms, but Clove still possessed a jacket full of knives and a feral snarl, so eventually they rolled in another table and set them up in the same room. She refused to drop his hand even as they were both poked and prodded and scanned and assessed to be in comparatively good health.

Then they pulled away Clove but left Cato seated, and she screamed and thrashed against their holds and reached out for Cato. The last she saw as she felt the prick of a needle was Cato shaking off some burly Peacekeepers and lunging towards her, and then everything was black.

* * *

Clove spent the following few days in an endless cycle of sleeping, waking, and being knocked out again. Her head ached less each time, her vision growing clearer until one time she woke unrestrained. Her skin was blinding in the faint light of the room, so pale and pure it almost burned. All her scars from the arena were gone, along with those from training back in Two- the jagged cuts Cato'd given her when they sparred.

She slipped out of the bed, tugged on the dark rust outfit she'd worn in the arena, and left the room to find her team at the end of the hall. Clove wandered, dreamlike, down the unbroken hallway until she reached them. Lucretia, bubbly and beaming. Bac, still vile but a welcome sight. And Enobaria, cold, composed, grinning.

"Congratulations, Clove," Enobaria told her. "We're very proud of you." It was almost catlike, the way the smile played about her face.

Lucretia enveloped her in a frantic hug, then just as quickly held Clove back, examining her newly-flawless skin. "Oh, you look so beautiful! Not a blemish left on your skin. I'd never even have guessed you just spent two weeks in the arena!" Clove smiled coolly and thanked her, but she knew how much weight she'd lost despite all their supplies.

"So you came back," Bac said, not quite sneering.

Clove shrugged. "I told you I wanted more of those dresses." And then she was laughing as he clapped her on the back.

"Come along, then, cheeky thing. I need to get you ready," he told her, turning to walk down the hallway.

Clove didn't move. "Where's Cato?"

Enobaria was the first to answer. "He's fine. They want to do your reunion live at the ceremony," she reassured Clove, polite enough to ignore the relieved sigh she let out.

Bac led her back to the apartment she'd stayed in prior to the Games, where he released her to her prep team. They were just as colorful as ever, but they'd seemed to have adopted a vibrant red as a common theme among them. They chattered excitedly about her victory as they bathed her, did her hair, nails, and makeup, and she kept a smile pasted on. She'd have to practice for the ceremony that evening, anyway.

Bac returned carrying yet another dress, this one a soft shade of peach. "Still going for 'sweet'?" she sighed. He grinned in answer as he slipped it over her head.

It was a sweet dress, a simple, sleeveless thing that fell to her knees and tied in at her ribs. The color was more of a youthful pastel than she'd preferred, but she supposed it couldn't be helped, if she still had an angle to play during the ceremony. Her face was rounded, softened by the makeup, somehow managing to look like she was perpetually smiling. There were no heels on her feet, just a strappy pair of golden sandals.

"It's very… youthful," Clove managed politely.

Bac shrugged. "I felt it would tie in nicely with your angle. Now everyone knows who you are, but you're still young for a Victor from Two. Now come along. It's almost time for the ceremony to start."

He took her hand and led her to the level she'd trained at, so very long ago. "Oh, Clove!" Enobaria called from where she stood beneath the stage. "Come here and give me a hug."

Clove felt her eyes narrow even as she glided over, feeling even less intimidating than usual without the added height of heels. She allowed Enobaria's arms, wrapped her own around the brittle Victor. "I'll be careful. I already guessed," she murmured before her mentor even had a chance to draw breath.

Enobaria's strange golden eyes glowed with something similar to relief as she pulled back, tucked a stray lock of hair behind Clove's ear. "Very good. You're far cleverer than I'd thought." The words might have sounded like a jab to a passerby, but Clove recognized it for the hidden praise it was.

"Well, I did just win the Games. I'd hope that would count for something," she said dryly. "Thank you for the medicine."

"Just doing my job, Clove. Now go out there and do yours." Enobaria led her to the metal plate that would take her up to the stage and left Clove alone.

* * *

 **[[One more left. Thank you for staying with this story.]]**


	18. Chapter 18

The anthem played, and then Caesar began to speak. Clove watched on the screen beneath the stage as the prep teams were presented, beaming and bobbing with excitement. Then Lucretia, bright and bubbly as ever. Bac and Cato's stylist, accepting their praise for the simple, beautiful outfits they'd designed. Enobaria and Brutus, fierce and feral, growing more frenzied as the crowds cheered, roared their names. And then it was her turn.

The plate beneath her feet began to rise, lifting her up to the stage. Clove blinked away the stars as the blinding lights hit her, feeling the roar of the crowd like a physical presence. And then there was Cato, formidable in black, so handsome with a smirk as she rushed towards him. His arms were around her, his lips on hers as she leaned up desperately on tiptoe. The audience went crazy, screaming their names, as Caesar tapped Cato on the shoulder and he shoved him aside without even turning to look at him. Finally, Enobaria nudged them towards the chair, a catlike grin on her face.

 _We're not as big a threat as Twelve would have been, with our close ties to the Capitol, but we're threatening enough._ Clove finally broke from Cato, saw the understanding, the cunning on his face. He was clever, perhaps not in the subtle, slippery way Clove was, but he'd been raised in Two among the wealthy elites. He knew what danger they faced and how to avoid it.

Cato sat first on the small couch, leaving enough space for her to sit on her own, but she eschewed that in favor of curling up on his lap. She kicked off her sandals and tucked her legs in, leaning back against him and savoring his warmth, his strength. One of his arms wrapped around her waist, the other clasping her hand as the show began.

The story the cameras showed was a love story, the way they'd fallen for each other over the course of the Games. Clove watched the Bloodbath happen again, licked her lips and grinned up at Cato. "Sadist," he murmured, but he was smirking.

She smiled when Glimmer died, and the cameras switched from that to them, the way Clove dragged her hallucinating self over to an unconscious Cato and curled up with him. She hadn't remembered doing that at all, but she knew Cato would tease her mercilessly about it. She could feel him radiate smugness even without looking at him. Clove buried her face in his chest when she saw her questionably-sane actions after waking from the stings, feeling rather than hearing him chuckle. "You don't have to apologize. I've been told I'm irresistible," he told her, utterly unrepentant. She swatted at him and turned back to the screen, only managing to sit stiffly in indignant avoidance for a moment before sinking back into him.

Clove scowled at the obviousness of the diversion fires- _how had she not noticed?_ She restrained a shiver as she watched Cato go insane, and judging by the sudden tension of her pillow, he wasn't too keen on it. She saw their alliance splinter, watched what she hadn't seen before, the way Marvel had died. He'd trapped little Rue and been just about to kill her when Firegirl- Katniss, she supposed- had launched an arrow. She perked up as Katniss sobbed and sang and gathered flowers. That was unexpected, her compassion for her former ally. Oh well, both were dead now.

Next came the twin announcements, and she watched her euphoria at the first, her gritty eagerness at the second. They played the feast in whole, her fight with Katniss, her attack by Thresh, her rescue by Cato. Clove saw herself shudder and gasp on the screen, oddly detached from her moment of almost-death. There was no mistaking the frenzy in Cato's hoarse cry to the sponsors she'd been unconscious for, the syringe that floated down in return. It switched over to Claudius' explanation of the syringe, the way its contents would halt whatever internal bleeding had occurred. She'd just taken it for granted she'd survived. What a pricey gift that must have been.

Oh, and there was Cato protecting her in the night, sleeping beside her, slipping water down her throat as she fidgeted in her sleep, and the time she'd woken up so hazily. She watched him carry her to the Cornucopia and shield the entrance before going off to hunt Thresh. They played that in full, the way Cato had snarled, "For Clove" as he cut the boy to pieces ever so slowly. Clove grinned at that, turned to kiss him, and the audience sighed.

And then there were the mutts, and the beautiful deaths of Twelve, and Clove stiffened ever so slightly as the crowd hushed. This was the dangerous part, the moment the Capitol feared because of its very nature. She hadn't meant to, but she'd called the Capitol's bluff, and they'd had to fold. That alone was threatening, that a tiny girl of fifteen had been able to defy the Capitol. Oh, they'd have to work so very hard to navigate around that.

The anthem played, and she climbed off Cato's lap and stood as President Snow took the stage. A little girl following him carried a cushion with the crown, an arc of golden leaves, and she stared at it for a moment until Snow twisted it and it split. He slipped the first on Cato's head, the second on Clove's, and his eyes were chilling, warning. Clove gave him one of her sweetest smiles, and the corners of his eyes softened just a little, a reprieve. _You understand. Good,_ he might have said were it not for the cameras.

Then they were taken to Snow's mansion for the Victory Banquet. Clove laced her fingers through Cato's and leaned back against him as officials, sponsors, or just overenthusiastic fans took pictures with them. She glimpsed Snow some times, but he never seemed inclined to approach them. Lucretia herded Enobaria and Brutus over halfway through the party to snag a picture with the whole team before Brutus could get too intoxicated, then kissed them both on the cheek and fluttered off, clearly overwhelmed with her good fortune.

It was dawn when they were finally allowed to leave. "I'm starving," Clove complained as they ascended to the apartment in the Training Center. "Why have all that food right there if I never got to eat any of it?"

Cato chuckled. "For all that you talk about food, one'd think you'd weigh more than you do. Shouldn't you be taller than a child by now?"

Clove scowled up at him. "Rude," she admonished, but before she could go on, Enobaria stepped between them.

"I'm afraid I'll have to ask the two of you to stay in separate rooms tonight. Discretion in the Capitol and all that," Enobaria said, rolling her eyes. Clove blinked and then flushed at the insinuation as she continued. "Cato, your stylist wants to check the fit of your outfit for tomorrow's- today's- interview before you go to sleep. Clove, Bac's already got a handle on yours. You can go ahead and sleep; the interview will be at two."

Clove gratefully fled to her room, still blushing as she peeled off the pastel gown and crawled beneath the covers. She wanted to sleep, probably needed to, but she couldn't stop thinking about Snow's poisonous breath curling in her nostrils. Poison had never been her weapon of choice, too easily turned against its user. A knife scratch she could handle; a dose of deadly venom, not so much. But it seemed to work for him.

 _For now._ She gasped aloud at the treasonous, unbidden thought, instinctively recoiling into herself. People who threatened the President did not die quickly but slowly, wasting away just long enough to watch their families and reputation crumble. His words were a whole different kind of poison. And while Clove might not have cared for her status, her parents each stationed in different Districts as Peacekeepers, she definitely cared for Cato. Cato had family of his own, too, a mother and older brother who'd visited him after the Reaping. No, she'd have to be subtle.

Somewhere amidst her scheming, Clove fell asleep.

* * *

Lucretia woke her and gave her a few minutes to shove down food before the prep team descended like annoying chattering locusts. Bac came in a few hours later and dressed her in a vivid, violently red gown that clung to her body like flesh and a pair of tall golden heels that snaked up her exposed calves. "No sweet little dress this time, then," she remarked, watching in the mirror as he made her eyes darker, her lips the same bloodred as her dress.

The swirls on his face distorted as he grinned. "I thought you might need the confidence for the interview. You can play vulnerable well enough; you did last night. Now the Capitol wants to see just how well you represent Two."

"I think it's my favorite so far," Clove told him as they left the room and went into the hall.

"Mine too." The voice startled her, and she whipped around to see Cato whistling appreciatively at her dress, slouching against the wall with his hands tucked in his pockets.

"You're disgusting," Clove informed him, swatting at him and groaning when he smirked unrepentantly. "I've changed my mind, Bac. Give me the other dress back."

"Too late," Bac replied. "Your interview starts soon, plus you can't wear the same dress twice in a row. It's horridly gauche to do so." He nudged her along to the sitting room, where Caesar greeted her with a hug.

"Congratulations, Clove. How are you today?" he asked as she struggled to extricate herself from his grasp in as polite a manner as possible.

"Excellent, thank you," Clove replied, stepping aside from the door so Cato could follow her for a firm handshake with Caesar.

"Neither of you are nervous for the interview?" Caesar prodded.

Clove smiled. "Why would we be? We already won. The hard part's over with. Now we just get to brag about ourselves." She linked her fingers with Cato's and leaned into him, every angle proclaiming her solidarity with him.

Caesar chuckled. "Such fire- I love it! Come, we'll get you arranged before the cameras start rolling."

Clove sat next to Cato on the loveseat at first, legs crossed so as to not reveal anything beneath the clinging fabric. "Oh, go ahead and sit on his lap if you want. It looked very sweet," Caesar said, and she grinned at him before moving onto Cato's lap and drawing her knees to the side. One arm curled around her waist, and just like that, the live broadcast began.

Caesar was as helpful as always, presenting just the right emotions and asking questions open-ended enough that Clove could quietly turn them around. But that didn't last forever. "Wow, what an emotional ride the feast was for you both. Tell me, Clove, how did it feel to almost die?" he asked.

Clove smiled. "At first, terrifying," she admitted, and Caesar chuckled. "But then I saw Cato run over, and I just knew he'd take care of me no matter what."

The in-studio crowd sighed a bit at that, even more when Cato turned her chin with a hand and kissed her. "I'll always be there for you, Clove," he promised. Caesar sniffled a bit and had to dive for a handkerchief.

"So, Cato, we all saw how worried you got over Clove. What was going through your head at the time?" Caesar asked once he'd recuperated.

Cato shrugged, the careless movement in stark contrast to the way he gripped Clove's hand. "Only that she might die and I still hadn't told her I loved her. When she finally woke up, I think my heart stopped from relief."

"So you loved Clove before the feast, then?" Caesar was relentless, but they'd managed to field his questions so far, working as they had in the arena.

"I didn't realize it until the announcement, when Claudius told us we could both go home. I suppose I always have, but I'd never admitted it to myself until then," Cato answered. "But there's no appropriate way to tell someone that when you're destined to fight to the death, so I kept it to myself until I learned I could still keep her."

"And what about you, Clove? When did you realize you loved Cato?" Claudius asked.

Clove remembered the blur of thoughts she'd had after Thresh had smashed her into the Cornucopia. _I have never loved someone as much as I do you, Cato._ Aloud, she said, "When I was dying and he held me, that's when I knew. I wanted to tell you then, Cato, but…" Her voice trailed off, and with a start, she realized her eyes were watering. She curled into Cato's chest to hide her face for a moment while she steeled herself, feeling his hand rub her back soothingly.

She listened to Caesar and Cato exchange more dialogue until she was certain her face was dried. Clove turned back to Caesar just as he brought up the final scene. "Clove, I've just got to ask," he began. "When the announcement was rescinded and you tried to leap for Cato. What was going on in your mind then?"

Clove tensed, reminded herself to be truthful. "At first, I thought I'd rather live, even without Cato. But then he… he didn't kill me, and I realized I couldn't kill him, either. And I knew I just couldn't bear it, to be a Victor without him. Had Claudius not stopped us, I would have killed myself. I wouldn't have made Cato have to live with… with killing me… forever." She was shaking by the time she finished, and she turned back to Cato, tucking her chin into his shoulder as he held her.

"Cato? Anything to add?" Caesar asked, almost hopefully.

"No. I think that goes for the both of us." His voice gave her the strength to turn back to face the cameras, one arm still around his neck as Caesar signed off. And then everyone was laughing and crying and cheering at another successful Games, and Clove found Enobaria.

"I'm proud of you both," the woman told them, regal as ever. "It's been an honor to mentor you this year." She wrapped Clove in a hug, and Clove could feel every bone on Enobaria's back sharp through her skin.

"So, what do you say, Clove? Ready to go back home?" Cato asked her.

Clove stood on tiptoe and pulled him down to meet her, brushing her lips against his before sinking into a deep kiss that burned somewhere deep in her chest. She drew back, grinned up at him, and answered, "I'm already home."

* * *

 **[[And thus concludes _Bellona and Mars_ , my first true story. Thank you all for sticking with me throughout this. If you want to read more in this universe, there will be a sequel titled _Ichor_ that will be published in a few days. Keep an eye out if you enjoyed this taste of politically-minded Clove.]]**


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